


The Stranger

by DragonGirl420



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-15 17:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonGirl420/pseuds/DragonGirl420
Summary: Reader finds a stranger wandering the road, his head and clothes bloody. He’s disorientated and doesn’t remember who he is. She takes him in and they get close until he starts having nightmares about monsters and killing people.Then one day, a sleek black car pulls up and a tall man gets out, wearing lots of flannel and has shaggy hair. He claims that the stranger is his brother and he’s come to collect him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Talk of abuse, anxiety, mild violence, language, canon divergence

“You better not be too long!”

Your step-brother’s voice bellowed from the stock room, making you cringe with loathing. You sighed quietly and grabbed your purse from the back of the chair in the small office. Working with him was becoming unbearable, and you needed to get out of there. Shane wasn’t your favorite person, not even near the top of the list. He was a bully when you were growing up together as kids, and even a bigger one now. The fact that you had to have him at your store to help out make you nauseous on a whole other level. And yet… here he was.

“While you’re out, grab me a sandwich, would ya? And a coffee.”

“We have coffee in the shop, Shane,” you mumbled, overwhelmed with regret for asking him to come and help you out. It was only supposed to be for a couple weeks, but that was three months ago.

“I want good coffee,” he yelled back, but you were already out the door, nearly sprinting to your car just to put some distance between you. “Not this sludge shit you make.”

Rolling your eyes, you were silently mocking him. But when it sounded like he was headed your way, you stopped. You didn’t want another confrontation with him. While he’d never physically harmed you (and he could, he was larger than average man), his mental abuse and intimidation were enough to frighten you and keep you on edge. The physical abuse was more his father’s style. Your step-father had been a special kind of monster, and unfortunately, Shane had inherited a good number of his bad qualities.

“Fine. Coffee and a sandwich. Anything else?” you asked, slinging your purse over your shoulder and hurrying towards the main entrance. He shouted something else, but by that time you were more than halfway to your truck.

Ten minutes into your aimless drive to town to get your brother his sandwich and coffee, you saw a man staggering down the side of the road.

“Gotta love the dedicated drunks,” you mumbled as you rolled past him, diverting your eyes from the road to the stranger. But what you saw of him made you do a double take, and quickly pull the truck to the side of the road.

Throwing the truck in park, but leaving it to idle, you jumped out and cautiously approached him.

His clothes were dirty and torn; half his face was covered in splotches of mud, the other half a mix of fresh and dried blood. You saw the cut on his head and the grimace of pain on his face, as he finally registered you standing there.

“Are—are you ok?” you asked, feeling stupid asking because he clearly was not. His eyes met yours, and he squinted as if trying to focus on you and not the stretch of road ahead of him. “Sir?”

“Huh?” he grunted and shielded his eyes against the sun above. “I…I—uh, do you know where this is?”

He was more shuffling his feet than walking, but he finally stopped; bending slightly, resting his hands on his knees and letting his head hang for a moment. When he stood, his expression was wrought with pain, and all you could think was to get him to a hospital. You considered 911 for a minute, but living as remotely as you did, it would be quicker to just take him to the ER yourself.

The man stumbled, and you rushed to his side and held him up as best you could. He wasn’t incredibly large, but tall enough and had enough solid muscle that your smaller frame nearly buckled under his weight. You did manage to steer him back towards the truck and he leaned against it gratefully as you opened the door and helped him in.

Climbing back into the driver’s side, you saw he was still conscious, but fading fast.

“Do you know your name?” you asked, hoping against hope that he remembered. But he just shook his head and grappled with the pain that coursed through him. “Ok, well, I’m gonna take you to the hospital, you don’t—”

“No!” he grunted and wrapped his arms around his ribs. “No hospitals.”

“But, you’re clearly hurt, and buddy, I’m no nurse.”

“Then leave me here,” he winced again, “just pull over. No hospitals…” with that, he passed out.

A simple ride to town had taken a very unexpected turn. Stopping to help someone was one thing, but this was more than you bargained for. However, this stranger had an aura around him that seemed alluring, yet very dangerous. This wasn’t a simple accident that he staggered away from; this man had been beaten badly by something or someone and needed medical attention. Yet, he refused it. There had to be a reason, and even though he was a stranger, you were apprehensively okay granting his request.

“Alright mister, you win. No hospitals.”

You turned the truck around on the deserted road and headed back to your house. Shane’s sandwich would have to wait.

 

“Look, something came up, alright? Shane, please…” you paused to endure more of his angry ranting and kept trying to squeeze in what you were trying to stay, “… just handle the store for me… just tonight. Okay? Close it up early if you must. I’ll try to get there as soon as I can in the a.m.”

Shane mumbled and cursed you under his breath, but you held the phone from your ear while he did so. He had tried calling your cell phone half a dozen times when you didn’t return with his sandwich, but you didn’t answer until the house phone began ringing non-stop.

A string of expletives and harassing remarks were hurled at you down the phone line, and you stood there listening to it all, as you had done many times in the past. Finally, he reluctantly agreed to close the store and do what you asked, allowing you to hang up and go check on the drifter in your house.

You had managed to get him to your house and to the spare bedroom downstairs. After a quick evaluation, you tended to the cut on his head as best as you could and noticed a large amount of bruising by his ribs. Assuming they were broken or at least fractured, you did your best to wrap them the way your mom had shown you when you were younger. Far too many bruises and broken bones just made it easier for her to patch you up back then, then trying to explain to the doctor how you fell, again.

The man swam in and out of consciousness for the next twelve hours. You tried to give him time to rest, but you feared finding a dead stranger in the room, which caused to you to check in on him, almost neurotically, every fifteen minutes.

Finally, sometime after midnight you checked in one last time, saw he was awake and struggling to sit up on the bed. He saw you standing there and offered a weak smile as you aided him in getting up completely.

“Thanks,” he grunted, his voice raspy and deep.

“I’ll get you some water,” you said after getting up and heading for the door. “Maybe some aspirin?”

He nodded.

It only took but a minute, but you returned with the pills and bottle of cold water. He took them gratefully, but also with great pain.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital? I really think you need stitches on your head,” you pointed towards the gash on his brow and he waved you off.

“No, I’m fine. I can’t—uh, I just don’t want to go to a hospital.”

“Fair enough. Do you at least remember your name now?”

He thought for a moment, his green eyes flickering quickly back and forth. He was searching for an answer and his expression lead you to believe it was right there… but he couldn’t grab it.

He shook his head slowly.

“Ok, no problem. It’ll come back to you. What do you remember?”

He closed his eyes; his brow furrowed in recollection, “I remember a car. A black car. I was driving. I think I was being chased—” He stopped immediately, shook his head of whatever details remained. “That’s it. I’m sorry.”

“No need for that. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed now that you’re up. A hot shower and some grub may help you feel a bit more human.”

“It’s a step in the right direction,” he joked, even chuckling a bit despite the pain it caused.

“Let me grab you some towels and clothes. My stepbrother left a bunch of stuff here before he moved out so it might be big, but at least its clean.”

“Wait, you didn’t tell me your name.”

“I’m (Y/N),” you answered with a partial smile. “Nice to meet you, stranger.”

You left the room and gathered some essentials for him. When you got back to the room and walked in, he was struggling to remove his shirt because the pain it caused in his side. Throwing the stuff on the bed, you helped him get the torn black t-shirt over his head and couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Something funny?”

“No, it’s just…” you paused, realizing how inappropriate your thought was, and even more so to say out loud to this man you didn’t know, but you couldn’t help yourself. “This feels like a bad porno plot…you know, hurt stranger needs help undressing, unsuspecting heroine loses clothes too.”

“At least a dozen,” he said and laughed heartily, and you did too.

This was the most he’d said since you found him, and despite not knowing anything about him, you found him charming. You tried not to stare at him sans shirt but did notice the tattoo on his chest. It was unique, unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Thick black lines of a pentagram with a circle of something around it, again, all in black. There was no point in asking him about it, he probably wouldn’t remember it.

“Anyway, there’s clean clothes and such. I think your shirt is ruined but leave the dirty clothes out and I can wash them up for you. Come on out to the kitchen when you’re done. I can rewrap your ribs and I’ll have some leftovers I can heat up for you.”

You turned to leave, but he lightly touched your arm to stop you. “Hey, uh, thank you. For the clothes, the bandages, everything. I really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure. I mean, who are we really if we can’t help a stranger in need,” you shrugged and gave the man a friendly wink before leaving and closing the door behind you.

Once you heard the inner door close, and the shower turn on in the spare room, you went in and gathered the clothes he’d left for you. Bringing them to the washer, you fished through the pockets to be sure there wasn’t anything that could be ruined, or that would ruin your machine. Buried deep in the 5th pocket was a small, folded piece of paper. You threw the clothes into the washer and unfolded it. It simply said:

Dean,

Shifter at the Damon’s. Meet there at 3.

~ E.

“Dean…” you whispered to the empty room. “I guess your name is Dean.” Looking down at the note again, you kept going back to the first word… Shifter. “What the fuck is a shifter?”

He rejoined you an hour later; Shane’s clothes were far too big on him, but he made it work. Now that he was properly cleaned of the mud and blood, you saw how really striking he was. His green eyes were brighter now, giving way too little creases at the corners when he smiled. He drew in the scent of the kitchen, and it was the first time you saw a true grin unfold across his face. When he walked, the pain was still evident in his expression, but he seemed to take it in stride, never once grunting or complaining.

“Whatever you heated up smells great,” he said and took a seat at your small, round table.

“It’s just some Shepherd’s Pie. Hope you aren’t a vegetarian or anything.”

“Honestly, I doubt it. But if I am, maybe its time for a change. Cause that really smells good,” he licked his lips and looked past you at the pan cooling on the stove.

“Oh, I found this…” you took the paper from your pocket and handed it to him. “Sorry, for snooping. I looked through your jean pockets before washing them and that was folded up really small. I could be wrong, but I am assuming you’re Dean.”

He studied the paper, a slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe I’m ‘E’.”

“Well, I thought of that,” you said and motioned towards the pen and paper on the table. “Copy the note on that and if the handwriting matches…”

“Then I’m ‘E’,” he finished, nodding in agreement. “Smart thinking.”

You watched as he copied the note word for word. Holding them up for comparison, the answer was clear. “You are definitely not ‘E’,” you laughed holding the two papers side by side. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Dean.”

 

Four Days Later…

“Are you sure about this, Dean?”

“Yeah, I’m positive. Look, I feel great. I am 100% up to this.”

He had taken the last few days to rest and heal as much as possible. The cut on his head had healed well with the suture band-aids you’d found in the pharmacy a few towns over. His ribs were sore, but Dean swore to you they were no longer causing him intense pain. His memory was still vacant, but it didn’t seem to bother him. If anything, Dean was content with just resting and healing in your spare bedroom, spending most of his time watching movies or surfing through Netflix.

“You’re a liar. But, I’d rather have you in the store and not Shane. He truly does drive me crazy.”

“Then it’s settled. Just tell Shane you hired me to help and he can spend more time, somewhere else. Not nosing around here and bothering you.”

Dean raised his eyebrows at you, looking for your agreement. Nodding in return, you shut off the truck’s engine and headed towards the store. The normal early morning customers were floating in and out of the entrance, all passing greetings as they went and giving Dean a firm once over.

“Come on,” you whispered and grabbed his arm, “let’s go around back. You can hang in the office until I talk to Shane.”

Leaving Dean to wait in the back room, you made your way through the aisles of pantry essentials and knick-knacks and found your stepbrother behind the register, the usual glower of anger attached to his face. He must have sensed you there and looked up, immediately meeting your gaze. You could see even from a distance, that he had been drinking already and it was barely nine in the morning. His demeanor towards the customers was meaner than usual, and he could barely stand up without swaying back and forth or holding onto the counter.

“Well, look who decided to show up,” he yelled across the store. “The Queen Dame herself! Aren’t we peons so lucky, she’s decided—”

“Shut the fuck up, Shane,” one of the guys in line spoke up. “Stop being an ass so early in the mornin’, ‘n leave her alone.”

“You shut it, Billy. This is between me and the princess here. Get your shit and go,” Shane grunted, pushing the change roughly into his hand.

As the last customer scurried away, you approached the counter and tried to lead the conversation with a smile.

“So, listen. I appreciate all you’ve done to help me out here while I needed it, but I found someone to help out. You are free to go back home and—”

“You’re kicking me out? Of my own place?” His face was glowing bright red from the anger building up.

“Your place?”

“Might as well be! I do all the work around here while you sit in that cushy office. Who chops the wood and bundles it? Hmm? Who stocks the shelves, and does inventory, and runs the register when you disappear for hours? Huh?!” His voice was growing louder and louder, and you were just grateful there were no customers left.

“Shane, please…”

“No! This is bullshit, you can’t just kick me out!”

“Actually, buddy, she can,” Dean spoke up, making you whirl around to see him standing close behind you. His arms were crossed over his chest, his stance assured and ready.

“Dean, you don’t have too,” you whispered as he started to approach Shane.

“Y/N, its fine,” he said without giving you a passing glance, but just rested his hand on your shoulder as he walked by.

“Who the fuck are you?” Shane questioned, a drunken burp penetrating his words.

“I’m the guy who is asking you nicely to leave. I’ll be helping out around here so you can go back to whatever cave you came from.”

Shane laughed loudly, but nothing about it was jovial. You had seen the look he had in his eyes; it was the same one his dad would get before backhanding you across the face. Your body involuntarily reacted as he huffed around the corner of the register and straight towards you.

“This place is as much mine as it is hers. MY father ran it! It’s rightfully mine!”

“Yeah, after MY mother died and he took it from me,” you growled, your own pent-up rage about the past starting to surface.

Shane didn’t take your comment with any sort of cool demeanor. His anger was growing and while you chalked it up mostly to the alcohol, you knew he had it buried in him for the same reasons you did. The difference was you didn’t let it affect how you treated others; he did. Shane’s fists were balling in and out, ready to hit something. Dean placed himself squarely between the two of you; his own fists ready for the challenge.

“Move,” he growled at Dean, but it only made him laugh.

Looking up at Shane, he shook his head and crossed his arms again. “No.”

“This ain’t your fight, hoss. She wants me gone, she’s gonna have to fight me for it.”

“Dude, what are you, six? Can’t cry to mommy cause ‘lil sister took your toy? Grow the fuck up, man. But more importantly, get the fuck out. Y/N and I can run the place and we don’t need your help. As for who’s property this is, check the lease, dickhead. It clearly has her name on all the paperwork. As do all the permits saying it’s a lawfully opened business.”

“You fucking this guy or something?” he asked you with a chuckle. “Can’t believe anyone would wanna touch—”

“Alright, I’ve heard enough,” Dean mumbled just before clenching his fist and bringing it around to Shane’s jaw.

Dean’s knuckles make a sickening crack when they met Shane’s face. You could see Dean wince in pain, but it didn’t slow him down. He threw another punch almost immediately, sending Shane stumbling backward into one of the displays holding chips and candy, knocking it over and scattering the merchandise everywhere.

Shane went to get on his feet, but Dean was there before he could, placing one booted foot on his chest. “Do you need to be asked again? Or can you leave quietly now?”

Staring at him in disbelief, Shane was speechless. Dean was calm and collected, his voice never raised, nor did he escalate the fight further. He allowed your step-brother to find his footing, the alcohol and Dean’s assault causing him to sway back and forth. His red, bloodshot eyes were adjusting to the room, his head swimming in what just happened.

“I, uh… I’ll go. But this isn’t over,” he warned, though without must gusto.

“Yeah, it is,” Dean said and walked towards the main entrance. He opened the door and waited for Shane to leave. When he got close enough, Dean grabbed him by the back of the shirt and “nudged” him out, but not before Shane “accidentally” crashed into the wooden door frame.

“Oops, watch it, buddy. Maybe start drinking a bit later in the day, huh?” Dean advised him and gave him a final shove out the door, then closing it and locking it behind him.

“Wait! My keys—”

“Fat chance my friend. No way you’re driving. Walk it off and pick them up tomorrow.”

Dean pulled the shade down that covered the glass when the store was closed, finally obscuring you from having to see Shane’s face.

“You alright?” he asked, taking your shoulders beneath his hands and meeting your eyes.

“Yeah, I think so. He’s just…”

“He’s an ass. I can see why you wanted him gone.”

“Thank you. But Dean, you—you can’t stay here. I mean, you have a life somewhere. I guarantee someone is looking for you. Don’t you want to know who they are… who you are?”

“I know who I am, Y/N. I’m Dean and today, I start my new job at this here General Store. For now, that’s enough. Besides, after all, you’ve done for me, I want to help you out. Getting rid of sasquatch over there was a start, but I’m here to work, too. Point me in a direction and use me.”

His playful smirk affected you more than you cared to admit. Sure, Dean was good looking, that wasn’t up for debate, but in the last couple days he’d been around, you continually found yourself highly affected by most of what he said and did. He was kind and funny, and even while in great pain, made you feel appreciated and that he actually enjoyed your company. You didn’t want him to go, but you also felt guilty keeping him when he wasn’t yours.

“What if you have a wife… hell, a husband… a family… friends? What about them?”

“I would think if I had any of those things, I would feel it. I would feel it somewhere inside. That nagging itch that I needed to get to someone. But I don’t.”

“What about ‘E’? Maybe—”

Dean gently, but without hesitation, caressed your cheek, a twitch of a smile playing around his lips. “I’m right where I want to be. Cross my heart.”


	2. Chapter 2

Seven Days Later…

“Dean! Dinner’s up!” you called down the hallway, but he didn’t answer. Maybe he’d fallen asleep again, he had been doing that a lot lately. You could tell he was tired. Maybe it was lack of sleep, or he was putting in too many hours at the store after whatever accident he had. Either way, his sleep was broken and haunted, and even from your room upstairs, you could hear him occasionally calling for someone or something.

You knocked softly on the bedroom door and it pushed open slightly. The room was half lit by the table lamp beside the bed, and Dean’s form was laying on his stomach with his face buried in the pillow. He had looked more than a little tired over the past few days. He simply said he hadn’t slept well, so you left it alone. But you were scared he was hiding something more. Maybe the pain in his head was getting bad again, or his ribs weren’t healing, or he was starting to remember who he really was.

You’d tried (and failed) to convince him to see a doctor, swearing up and down that he was fine. Even now, at half past seven in the evening, his rest was labored and broken. You noticed he was scowling in his sleep, his legs twitching and his body tense. You were about to wake him when he turned over suddenly, his arms violently flailing in front of him and muttering the words, ‘no… don’t…’ repeatedly.

“Dean?” you said just above a whisper, “Dean… wake up.”

You sat on the bed beside him and lightly shook his shoulder, igniting his gut instinct to react. He shot up from the bed, grabbed your wrist tight and twisted it roughly.

“Ow! Dean!” you screeched, causing him to really wake up and notice his surroundings.

He registered your face and immediately dropped your hand. “Y/N, I’m sorry… shit. I was having a nightmare, and—”

“Its fine, really,” you said rubbing your wrist where he grabbed you. “That must have been one hell of a nightmare.”

“Yeah,” he grunted, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying to rid his brain from the horrific visions he just had. He looked at you mournfully, his eyes kept going to your wrist and the guilt he felt was painted all over his face.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Dean quickly shifted his gaze from you, making you feel as if he was hiding something from you, or at least holding back. Even though it had only been a little over a week, you’d come to feel like you knew him, at least this version of Dean, and something felt off.

He sighed and looked at you apologetically. “Maybe later. Right now, I can smell dinner and I’m starving.” He pulled himself off the bed and extended you a hand to help you up. “What’s on tonight’s menu?”

“Meatloaf and potatoes.”

“Perfect,” he smiled again and extended his elbow for you to take as you exited the room together. “And what’s on the Netflix for bingin’?”

“Whatever you like,” you said, though, for the first time since he’d been there, you weren’t as enthused for your night of ‘Netflix and Chill’ with Dean as you had been in days past. Trying to shrug off the odd feeling you had, you simply smiled and headed towards the kitchen to eat.

He kept the conversation light, steering it away from his nightmares whenever you tried to bring it up. Hell-bent on changing the subject, you let him ramble on about the store, the shows you’d been watching, and whatever other small talks he threw your way.

Once dinner was done and the dishes were cleared, you found him on the couch, his head resting back against the cushion. He was sitting on the far end, and you took your place on the opposite end of the sofa. Dean’s eyes were closed, but he felt your weight shift the cushions and it made him grunt.

“You put me in a food coma,” he groaned happily, patting his stomach with both hands. “Please don’t tell me there’s dessert… unless it’s those apple things you made the other night. In that case, I’ll have two please.”

You laughed at him and shook your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Nope,” he said, as he opened his eyes and turned to look at you without taking his head off the cushion, “you’re just a really good cook.”

“Alright, enough flattery. I don’t have the apple things, but I will make more tomorrow.”

Dean did an animated fist pump and grinned. 

“What do you wanna watch?” you asked, grabbing the remote and flicking on the tv. “We could binge Game of Thrones… oh, or maybe The Walking Dead.”

“Nah, no zombies, ice ones or otherwise. How about Stranger Things? Those kids are so damn funny.”

You agreed and put the show on to where you’d left off. Sometime around when Joyce Byers was buying an insane amount of Christmas lights, you felt his eyes on you. You looked at Dean and confirmed that he was staring at you. This made you blush and feel very self-conscious.

“What? I have a booger or something?” you laughed but drew your knees up into your chest, a defensive habit you developed while growing up. Your nerves were feeling the weight of the last week, and it hit you (not for the first time) that this man was a complete stranger, and you were just letting him live with you.

You had just opened your home and business to him like you’d known him for years, not just found him bloody on the side of the road. At times you thought he was the best friend you’d ever had, and other times you chastised yourself, brutally, for taking him in like a stray dog.

Now, with the way he was looking at you, you worried if you’d made a mistake. Would he hurt you? Attack you? Beat you silly just for fun? The swirling chaos that was erupting in your head must have been written all over your face because Dean noticed you weren’t okay.

He grabbed the remote and paused the show. “Hey, you alright?”

You couldn’t answer. Somehow between the earlier situation in his room, and now with the way he was looking at you, anxiety had filled the crevices of your brain and you were certain that Dean was some lunatic hell bent on hurting you.

“Y/N?” He leaned forward and reached across the couch, holding out a hand towards you. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” You could feel your hands start to tremble, your mind still racing with questions and doubt about whether you could or should trust him. “Hey, talk me. What happened? If it’s about earlier, I’m really sorry I scared you.”

“I, uh, I’m—” you started to cry, and not just a few tears. Something had been building up since the confrontation with Shane and having Dean around was adding to it. Having grown up with an abusive father figure, and a bully of a brother, men were always something you had a tough time navigating. There hadn’t been too many good ones in your life, and while you felt Dean was one of them, anxiety was now making you doubt that.

“Hey, hey… it’s alright,” he tutted, and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “whatever it is, we can fix it.”

Dean pulled you into the crook of his arm and held you close. It should have made things worse; normally that’s what happened. Being that physically close to someone was usually the cause of a near instant panic attack. But not this time. Dean’s arm around you helped the trembling to stop, the endless chatter in your brain to cease, and even your tears found a way to dry up. He used his hand to push your head closer to him, leaving a kiss on the top of your hair.

“If you’re worried about Shane, he picked up his keys and he promised he’d stay away.”

“It’s not Shane, it’s you. You scare the shit out of me,” you said in a surprisingly even and calm tone.

He didn’t push you away or react adversely at all. Instead, his grip on you readjusted slightly, making you feel more comforted. You heard him sigh and looked up to try and read his expression. Dean was biting his lower lip, concern dusted across his brow.

“This has gotta be weird for you, I get that. I think about it a lot. If you want me to go, Y/N, I will. I’m better, my head is pretty much healed, my ribs don’t hurt at all. I can just go—”

“That’s just it, Dean. Despite everything, I don’t want you to go. Yet, I fear what happens if you stay. You don’t belong here. You probably have a family, or someone looking for you. For over a week now you’ve lived here, and we quickly fell into this weird domestic routine that feels completely foreign to me. I’ve lived alone for a long time, and except for my shithead brother, I don’t have anyone I talk to regularly.”

“That ain’t right, Y/N. You should be happy and have someone—” he paused and rubbed his hand over his stubbled cheek, lightly sighing. He was serious, but also sweet in the way he was looking at you. “You deserve someone that appreciates you. Someone who looks out for you and cares about you. I’d be dead if you didn’t find me. Honestly, every time I try and think about where I should be, or where that note said I had to be, all I can think is this is where… I am where I should be.”

This time when you looked up, the intensity in his gaze pierced into you, causing a swell of erotic discomfort that hadn’t been there before. Who was this guy that he could bring forth such a rush of emotions? He could make you laugh, feel safe, but also terrify you with how quickly he reacts, like he did with Shane and then earlier when you tried to wake him. He was mysterious and yet familiar, which caused an odd sense of déjà vu that couldn’t be explained. At the same time, you felt yourself wanting him more with each day that passed. These weren’t feelings you were used to having, in fact, they were elusive and very absent in your life.

The house was completely silent. You felt yourself start to slightly tremble again, but it wasn’t out of fear this time. Dean’s face was inching closer to yours, so close you could make out the army of freckles that fell over the bridge of his perfectly shaped nose. You heard him swallow nervously, just as his hand brushed against your chin to direct your face up towards him.

Before you could object, Dean’s lips pressed softly against yours. It was tentative and sweet; the passion driving it was slow to ignite, but it was there bubbling under the surface of the uncertainty it was layered with. He didn’t try and shove his tongue in your mouth or grab you and throw you down on the couch; he kept it light, opening his mouth just enough for you to feel the silky tip of his tongue against yours.

His hand brushed the hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear; then gently cradled your jawline and neck. You weren’t lost in the moment but fully immersed in it; inviting whatever anxiety still clung to you to leave. It went on for more than a minute, the hesitant, yet sensual touches of two people who just wanted to forget the outside world for a moment and find comfort in the other.

He pulled back first and pressed his forehead against yours. A ghost of a smile touched the mouth you were instantly longing for again.

“I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” his voice was raspy and dry.

“Don’t apologize Dean. I’m glad you did. I wanted you too, so much. I’m just… scared.”

“I’m not like Shane,” he said taking both your hands into his. “I would never hurt you or lay a hand on you.”

“I know, I’m sorry I thought otherwise.”

“You have plenty of reason to, Y/N. You don’t talk about it much, but I can see it. And I hate it.”

“Who the hell are you?” you whispered, almost inaudibly, but the desperation you felt to really know him coated your words. You examined his face to try and find something in it that spoke up to your question. But all you found was some kindred—but lost—spirit, swimming amidst the cut of his green eyes.

“Sweetheart, I wish I knew. But right now, I don’t hate the guy I am with you.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, right in the chest. The way he looked at you when he said it just proved that he was sincere. You didn’t know if that made it worse, or better.

“I’m just afraid to get too attached. One day, your life is going to come walking through that door, and you’ll be gone.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But neither do you. You don’t even seem to want to know where you came from.”

“Whatever is going to happen, will,” he said, completely ignoring your last comment. “We can only control right now, right? So, I say we enjoy this for whatever it is and watch the rest of this episode.” He raised his brow playfully, getting you to smile. “Besides, I gotta know what this woman is gonna do with those lights,” he chuckled, but his expression was trying to convey something else. It was as if he was pleading for you to just agree. So, you simply offered him a small smile, then nodded and curled into his side.

You wanted him to kiss you again; thought about just pulling him to you, but you didn’t. Whatever was happening was meant to be taken at a snail’s pace and not just because he was still healing, but because you didn’t want to end up having to do any healing yourself. A broken heart never set correctly, and it was one thing you didn’t need to deal with, ever again.

 

After going to bed that night, you stayed awake for a long while, mulling over everything that had happened in the past week. Starting with a strange man crashing into your life, then a confrontation with Shane, and now it had just become that much more complicated with the kiss you shared.

Dean kissed you one more time, very softly, while saying goodnight. Though it didn’t last as long as the first one, somehow it was harder to walk away from. Getting involved with him was not in your plans, and maybe in the cold hard light of day, you’d come to your senses, but at this moment all you wanted to do was go back downstairs and be with him.

While you were trying to decide what you should do, there was a large crash of the metal garbage cans hitting the pavement near the garage. Assuming it was probably the raccoons again, you took it as a sign that you should go downstairs and just double check. You jumped out of bed and put your cotton robe over your PJs that consisted of a pair of boy shorts and a tank top and headed down to check out the raucous. 

Tiptoeing down the old wooden stairs, you paused outside his bedroom door and listened. It was quiet. Deciding you’d leave him to sleep, you were about to go peek out the kitchen window to check on the noise when another sound from outside caught your attention. This time you heard low voices through from the other side of the exterior wall.

You knocked lightly, but frantically, on Dean’s door. When you heard no answer, you pushed it open anyway, nearly jumped into the room and closed it quickly. The crash of the cans must have woken him, as he was sitting up in bed already. He held a finger to his mouth in a gesture for you to be quiet. Dean threw the covers off himself, pressed himself against the wall and gingerly lifted the curtain covering the window closest to his bed. He motioned for you to come closer and you obliged with no hesitation.

“I hear voices,” he whispered, carefully putting the curtain back with minimal movement.

“Me too.”

“Do you have any weapons? Gun? Machetes? Hell, fireplace poker?” he asked, still calm and cool as always.

“Um, I have a shotgun. Its upstairs in my closet. It’s not loaded and its locked in a case. Honestly, I don’t even know if it is fully assembled anymore. I hate the damn thing.”

“At least you have one. C’mon,” Dean said as he grabbed your hand and headed upstairs.

You got to your room and rifled through the closet until you found the locked case. Fumbling with the keys you’d grabbed from the dresser, you opened it and handed the whole mess to Dean. “Do you know—”

Before you could even finish your thought, he was taking the pieces, assembling and loading it in record time. You watched in awe with the speed he had it locked and loaded as if it was as natural as breathing for him. For the briefest moment, the intruders were forgotten, and a bit of the earlier anxiety set it.

‘Who the fuck is this guy’ you kept thinking, yet still really didn’t fear him, just the things you’ve seen him do.

The sound of glass breaking downstairs made you jump, but Dean was by your side in a second.

“I want you to stay here,” he said firmly. “Lock this door and don’t open it unless you hear my voice, alright?”

You nodded, fear starting to consume you. Dean didn’t miss it. “Hey, it’s gonna be fine. I’ll take care of it.” He held the side of your face with his hand and locked his eyes with yours, making sure he saw that you believed him.

“You’re going to kill them? I can call the cops—”

“No, not yet. No cops,” he barked, then shook his head, as if trying to get the thought gone. “I’m not gonna kill anyone. Just stay here. Find whatever you can that would hurt someone and hold on to it.”

He tried to offer you a comforting smile, but the sound of more breaking glass set him into action and he was gone out of your bedroom door. Once you locked it behind him, you tried to regulate your breathing and not let the panic overtake you. You did consider calling the cops anyway. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do? Not that they would be much help. Your local Sheriff’s department consisted of three officers, two of which you knew from high school and wouldn’t trust them to find a lost dog. Instead, you choose to follow Dean’s caution and just wait it out.

The house was quiet again; you couldn’t hear Dean or anyone from outside. Hoping the intruders left on their own, you chanced a peak from the second story window that overlooked the garage and driveway. All you could make out were three shadows moving along the perimeter of the house and peering into the windows that weren’t already shattered.

The blast of a shotgun rang out and the three shadows took off through the backyard. One of black masses fell over one of the tipped garbage cans. They scrambled to their feet when they saw Dean exit the house by the back door. The dim back porch light gave just enough illumination for you to see him stalking across the driveway, cocking the shotgun.

The fallen intruder got to his feet and dove for cover behind the garage just as Dean fired another shot. Though the adrenaline was coursing through your body, you didn’t feel any more fear. The anxiety of it all slipped away the moment you saw Dean down below; you just knew you were safe. It also didn’t escape you that when he fired the second shot, he wasn’t really aiming near the target.

‘Just a warning,’ you thought and felt even more relief.

From downstairs, you heard the back door close. Not too long after, you could hear Dean’s footsteps coming back upstairs, then his knock on the door. “Y/N, it’s me, open the door.”

Before he could step foot all the way in, you were throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. You felt him sigh against you, placing one arm around the small of your back and hugging you tightly. When you let him go, you saw the concern he held on his brow and followed his gaze to his hand. In it, he held a brick with a paper attached.

“What is that?” you asked. A wave of nausea rising from the pit of your stomach. ‘That,’ you thought, ‘is nothing but trouble.’ “What does it say, Dean?”

He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. “This is what came through the window. It was on the living room floor by the couch. A second one broke one of the kitchen windows.” He held out the brick for you to take.

Examining it, you turned it over and saw the paper that had been firmly rubber banded to the brick. The note said, ‘we’re coming for you’.”

“What the hell does that mean? Who is coming for me?” your mind was racing, and all you could come back to was that it was from Shane, or some of his idiot friends trying to scare you. Even though you hadn’t heard from him since the incident in the store, you knew he was petty and underhanded; he would do anything to get what he wanted.

“Y/N, maybe it’s not for you… maybe this is because of me. What you said earlier… maybe—maybe you were right. My past is catching up to me.”

You felt your knees weaken and abruptly needed to sit. Finding your way to your bed, you fell onto it and drew in a deep, shaky breath. Dean carefully rested the shotgun against the window and sat next to you on the bed.

“Good thing you don’t have close neighbors. Cops would’ve been here by now,” he tried to joke but knew you were too rattled by the message.

“Dean… what the hell do we do now?”

“I don’t know, Y/N. Whoever the hell they were, they’re gone for tonight. I saw two of ‘em take off, one went ‘round the garage but I doubt he stuck around.”

“We really are quite the pair, huh? Me with a psychotic brother, you with a mysterious past and no memory. Where’s the Lifetime people when you need them?”

Dean laughed and rubbed both hands wearily over his face. “Tomorrow, we will try and figure this all out. Not much we can do now, so we should probably try to get some sleep.”

It was your turn to laugh. “Yeah, sleep. Ok. Cause that’ll happen.”

“You gotta try. You’re no good to me sleep deprived and crabby,” he teased, his eyes were tired and his features soft.

You touched his stubbled cheek, cradling his jaw with your hand as he leaned into you. “Will you stay with me? Up here? I really don’t want to be alone after that.”

He nodded softly. You got up from the bed and placed the brick on the floor in the corner. After you slipped off your robe and left it on the chair, you crawled back into bed and Dean followed suit. You both laid down, facing each other in a near mirror-image; each of you with one arm curled up under your pillow.

“You should try to sleep,” he whispered, gingerly brushing away a lock of hair that had fallen on your cheek.

“So should you.”

“You sure this is alright? Me, in your bed?”

You smiled and nodded. “Trust me, you’re right where I want you to be,” you teased, using his own words against him.

He chuckled, his tongue peeking out against his bottom lip and biting it slightly as he sleepily gazed at you. “You know, despite what just happened, I don’t hate how this day ended.”

“Me either. You make me feel safe, Dean. Regardless of which one of our train wreck lives brought this to the doorstep, it doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re here, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Dean’s eyes drifted closed, as he wrapped his one free arm up around your shoulder. His fingers grazed against your skin, leaving you wanting to feel more of him. Even though you were more confident that he was really the man you thought he was, you still wanted to be sure; take things slow. For tonight, just falling asleep next to him would be enough; his arm around you, his breath on your cheek and secure in the knowledge that he would keep you safe from whatever threat lay waiting.

Falling asleep with him was just what you needed. Until his nightmares started again. That was something you weren’t prepared for, and Dean’s nightmares scared you far more than the intruders ever did.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chains had him tied up, tightly bound to an invisible force. The hooks of his confinements burrowed into his bones, eliciting this clicking noise that rang out as loud as church bells in his ears. Black and red mists swirled around his head, clawing and biting at his flesh. He could feel the blood trickling down the sides of his chest, dripping off into the vast nothingness around him. He was helpless; desperately calling for Sam again._

_The dream morphed again, this time there was an older man, Dean knew that on a subconscious level, not by current view. This man was wrapped in a white sheet and his body was burning to ashes. He did nothing but watch, and it filled him with more despair than the imagery of whatever that was before it._

_The black car, the one thing he could remember, roared beneath him as he kept frantically looking behind him, but the headlights of the car that was chasing him were far too bright to make out any details…. Someone screamed from the backseat. Dean looked in the rearview again and saw a blond girl, her face was covered in blood and she was hurt; another woman was tending her wound. From beside him, a man yelled his name, Dean felt the wheel jerk from his hands and…_

_One last flip of his REM cycle left him in a flashing montage of images; mostly ones where he was doing the slicing and shooting. This is the one that bothered him most of all. Fear in the eyes of the victims… HIS victims. Why would he kill them? What had they done? ‘_ Something bad,’ _his memory whispered through the chaos his dreaming mind was unleashing._ ‘You’re the one who corrects them, who saves—”  _Screams created with the victim’s last breaths permeated through the dream’s inner dialogue. Dean could feel his body physically reacting but had no control over it. He was desperately trying to wake up. If he could just open his eyes and pull himself out of this nightmare…. He’d see her face. Her face calmed him. Her face… she was there in the dream now, eyes closed and smiling. Her lids flew up, revealing yellow eyes and a wicked, dark chuckle …_ ‘She’ll be mine too, Dean…’

 

* * *

 

Dean sat up with a start, his whole-body sticky with sweat. Trying to catch his breath, he looked over at her, and though her back was to him, it thankfully looked like she was still sleeping. Gently, as so not to disturb her, he sat up more and leaned his back up against the headboard. He closed his eyes, but the images were still there; still fresh. He never wanted to close his eyes again, especially if that was what he was going to see. The dreams were nothing new, but that was the first time he’d ever seen her in them. As he unwillingly closed his eyes, solely because the need for sleep willed him too, he wished that he would never see her in them again.

He could hear the rain starting outside. The soft pattering against the window was calming; almost as calming as she had been for him over the last two weeks. Dean had been having the same horrific dreams night after night, but he just wanted to forget them in the light of day. He didn’t want to tell her about them or about how scary they really were; how much they actually scared him. More so than that, he was scared of the person who could have nightmares like that, because if he was that man and they were more memory than a dream as he suspected, he didn’t want to remember.

Dean opened his eyes and looked down at Y/N, found he needed to resist the urge to stroke her hair. Really, he just wanted to lay beside her and wrap his arms around her, bury his face in the back of her neck and never let go. She made him feel safe.

But he resisted.

His eyes drifted closed, he was relieved to see that the nightmares finally faded from his mind’s eye. Slumping back down to the bed, he inhaled deeply, slowly exhaling and letting his body settle back into the early stages of sleep. Before drifting off completely, a small, quiet voice spoke up from the back of his consciousness. It only said one word, but it was the word that Dean knew would unlock everything else…  _Winchester_ ….

His eyes shot open again. That word—that name—it was his name. He threw the covers off his legs and tiptoed into the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. Dean looked at the reflection gazing back and tried to find the person he was in the face before him. The collar of his shirt was dark with sweat from the nightmare, his hair a messy and plastered to his forehead. He met his own green eyes and felt certainty fill him as his eyes welled with tears.

“My na—” he cleared his throat of the building emotion. His head fell, hanging over the sink, trying to find some composure. Finally lifting it, he looked into his reflection and tried again. “My–my name is Dean Winchester.”

You slowly turned the note found in Dean’s pocket over and over, toying with the corners of the paper absently. The more you would look at it, the more you stared at the opposite side of the handwriting. There, in small non-descript print was a partial address. Doubting it was anything, you ignored it at first. But now that you had more time to mull it over, couldn’t stop considering that it was important after all.  

Having tucked it away after those first couple days post-Dean’s arrival, you found it the morning after the intruders had come and kept it in your pocket ever since. It was a way to remind yourself that Dean’s presence wasn’t permanent. Every time you felt yourself feeling more than you should, you’d touch the paper in your pocket to remind yourself of that fact.

It had been five days since someone tried to scare you in the middle of the night. Dean hadn’t slept in the downstairs room again, insisting that it would be safer to stay together. You didn’t object, but you also made sure to keep things platonic in the days since “ _The Night of the Kiss”_ , as you had come to think of it.

Sitting in the office, you heard a bit of commotion coming from the store’s front. At first, you assumed it was Shane coming back to cause trouble, but then a large burst of laughter dispelled that thought quickly. It was Dean’s laugh; a sound you were becoming very familiar with and loved hearing. He was such an integral part of your everyday life now, it was hard to imagine how things would be without him around.

_‘Any day now, you know’_ , the nagging, anxiety-riddled voice in your brain warned,  _‘any day now his old life will catch up and steal him away from you.’_

You ticked your head to the side and cleared your throat, trying to stave off the rise of destructive self-talk that was building. This happened at least twice a day, despite Dean’s best efforts to reassure you, you couldn’t find a way to make it stop.

Though, there was  _one_  way it would stop… Dean needed to find out who he really was and where he really came from. Maybe then, if he knew, he could  _choose_  to be there with you and whatever feelings were growing in your domesticity could be explored. Every time you brought it up, he would change the subject, steering you in a completely different direction. It was as if he didn’t exist before you found him on the road. A few times since he’d arrived, you secretly searched the internet looking for missing persons, accident reports, or any kind of news story that may be even remotely relatable to Dean. But there was nothing.

His nightmares had been persisting, and at one point he called out for someone named Sam. You woke to him thrashing beside you, sweat covering his face and neck, soaking the top of his shirt. The next day he was sullen and tired, but still refused to speak about what he saw in them. Anytime you’d bring up seeing a doctor, or getting hypnosis to recall his memory, he would find a task that suddenly couldn’t wait. It was when you were just existing together, side by side did Dean look his happiest. The peaceful calm he displayed in those moments was in stark contrast to the Hell he seemed to be living in his subconscious every night.

Another uproarious laugh from your stranger came through the thin office walls, despite the thoughts swirling in your head, it made you smile. Many things about Dean made you smile. But you were also sad for him because whenever you did try to bring up the nightmares, or the name Sam, he would get this look in his eyes. It was desperate and lonely like he was stuck in a loop of memory that kept punishing him with each go ‘round. Though he swore he didn’t know who Sam was, nor why he would be dreaming what he was, the look was still there chiseled into his near-perfect features.

More noise from the front of the store finally drew you back to the present and out of your rabbit hole of thoughts. You tucked the note back into the 5th pocket of your jeans and headed out to see what was going on.

Dean was behind the counter talking to a customer. Lots of laughing and easy back-n-forth banter was happening, and it struck you that he was really blending in. The regulars had never taken to Shane. They barely even acknowledged the girl that used to tend to the register before she disappeared, and she had worked for you for two years. The entire store felt lighter and happier which had to be in part to Dean’s presence, but mostly Shane’s absence.

He noticed you approaching and told the customer to hang out a second. Dean was smiling like a child and nearly bounced towards you.

“Hey, can you hold down the fort for about an hour? Bill placed a huge order and I told him I could help him pack it up and unload it at his place. Poor old guy lost his helper and can’t really manage it himself.”

You looked past Dean and gave Bill a wave. “Yeah, course. Thanks for going the extra mile. Bill’s an old family friend. Appreciate you looking out for him.”

“My pleasure. Dude’s pretty cool. Said he’s got an old Chevy I could toy around with. If I get it runnin’—”

“You can have it?” you finished his sentence and chuckled. “Yeah. Bill’s been throwing that line out for years. If you can get that car running, you’ll be the talk of the town.”

“I do like a challenge,” he winked. “Be back in a bit,” he said with a smile, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. With a bounce in his step, Dean was off to help Bill and you were left alone in the store.

Nearly an hour later, the little bell over the door chimed. You looked up from the counter and saw a man standing there, looking around the empty store. When your eyes met, he walked over to where you were. He was tall, of medium build and looked pleasant enough. But when you really looked at him, there was something that made your inner hackles stand up on end. Sort of the way they did whenever you knew your step-father or Shane was about to get angry.

“Hi,” he said, a polite-enough smile on his face.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, is Dean around?”

You were slightly taken aback that someone mentioned him by name even though he’d been around the store a lot in the last couple weeks. Most casual customers didn’t know his name, and this guy had never been in your store before; he was someone you would’ve remembered.

“Um, who?” you asked, feigning ignorance.

“Dean… he’s expecting me,” the man said with a tinge of annoyance and hurriedly flashed a piece of paper that looked official but was gone so fast you couldn’t tell for sure. “Invoice for an order of penny candy.”

“Oh,” you replied hesitantly. You and Dean had been working closely in the store, and while he took on a little responsibility when it came to stock and orders, you always dealt directly with the vendors. Sensing something wasn’t right about this, you decided to trust your gut and stayed behind the counter where there was a weapon and a phone nearby.

“Well, I take care of invoicing and purchasing, not this… Dean person,” you said challenging him. You didn’t know where this was headed, but you continued to stay on high alert.

The man approached the counter slowly and when he didn’t offer to hand you the paper, you went about your business, trying to look busy putting away some merchandise on the shelves around you. You dropped a pack of cigars, accidentally on purpose, and when you crouched down to get them you watched in the security monitor hidden under the counter, as the mysterious man turned and scanned the store again. When he turned back towards the counter, his eyes were glowing almost metallically.

Slowly, you stood up and when you saw him again, he looked completely normal but was staring at you suspiciously. “Look, is Dean around or not?”

“I told you, there’s no—”

The bell chimed over the door, drawing your attention from him. Two separate couples walked in, one familiar to you, one not. They didn’t give a passing look towards the counter, but just grabbed a small basket and were off to do their shopping. The man’s expression changed; he was frustrated and nearly snarling with anger.

“I’ll come back another time,” he huffed and made a hasty exit, shoulder checking yet another customer walking through the door.

“What the hell—” you muttered to yourself once he was gone.

“Sorry about that sir!” you called out to the innocent shopper, who waved it off with a smile.

You wished that Dean had a cell phone. You wished he would be back already, because while your exterior appeared calm, cool and collected, internally you were shaking violently. That man, whoever he really was, had no good intentions. If those customers hadn’t come in, who knows what he would have done. The way he asked for Dean was disturbing and didn’t do much to help your nerves try and calm down.

Once all the customers had been checked out, you followed the last one to the door, closing and locking it behind him. As you did, you noticed a black car sitting across the street. It was idling, and even though there was still light in the sky, it was impossible to tell who was sitting in the driver’s seat. A minute later, the driver put it into gear and slowly pulled back onto the road, soon disappearing into the horizon.

You rested your head against the glass of the front door window and sighed, trying to hold the emotion back that wanted to spill over.

“Not a good time for that,” you said to yourself, flipping the sign to closed and pulling down the shade. “No time for breakdowns Y/N, no time at all.”

* * *

 

Dean finally arrived back at the store a short time later, surprised to see you had closed up early. The drive back to the house was quiet, though he tried to ask a few times if you were alright. You just mumbled something or grunted ‘mhm’ but really felt anything but okay.

Putting the truck in park and killing the engine, you hopped out quickly and made it to the back door before Dean could get out. By the time he found you, you were pacing around the kitchen, so lost in thought about the man in the store, that you didn’t even notice him standing in the doorway.

“Alright, what the hell is up with you? You seemed fine when I left to help Bill. What happened?”

You stopped pacing and met his stare. “What happened?” you shook your head and snorted a laugh. “I’ll tell you… some weirdo came into the store, claiming you were expecting him. Waving some fake-ass invoice saying he was there to deliver penny candy.”

“Uh, ok,” Dean said, clearly confused. “I don’t understand. I don’t know anything about candy. Except that I like eatin’ it.”

“His eyes Dean, his eyes glowed! Not to mention he was giving off a really creepy vibe. I closed early cause—”

“Whoa, whoa… his eyes? Glowed? Glowed how?”

“The fuck if I know?! I don’t see people’s eyes normally glow, Dean, that’s not something I see every day! They just glowed, like silvery gold! What the hell was that?!”

You started pacing again. Dean pushed off the door frame and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs.

“Why don’t you sit down, tell me everything that happened.”

“I can’t sit. I need to move,” you mumbled as you chewed on your lower lip. “This guy was clearly looking for you, and honestly, it’s not the only thing that’s bothering me.”

Facing him, you gripped the back of the chair, using your expression to plead with him, “Why won’t you tell me about the nightmares? Why won’t you talk to me, at all, about what you remember?”

Dean was quiet. He sat down in the chair he had pulled out for you and ran his hands through his hair. “Y/N, I really don’t know what to tell you.”

“How about the truth!? The honest-to-God truth. What are the nightmares about? Who was that guy, today? How did he know you?”

“Y/N—”

“No! No more bullshit, Dean! You live in the house with me… you work in my store! We are like an old married couple without the benefit of sex! Hell, I want that too…” you paused, not because of the admission you made, but because of how frustrated you were with him. “Don’t you get it? I like that you’re here. Every time I think about any kind of future, panic sets in because I know… I just  _know_  as soon as I give in, and really feel something for you, your past is gonna come tearing through and wreck us… Wreck me.”

“That’s the last thing I’d ever want,” he said softly, rubbing his brow.

“Then please, talk to me. Don’t shut me out. Let me help you.”

“You’ve helped me enough. Hell, you saved my life. So, I’m supposed to repay you by reigning my previous life of Hell down upon you? No, not gonna happen, sweetheart.”

“Well _, sweetheart_ , it’s already happening. So… do you remember? Do you remember your life?”

“No,” he snapped, but immediately regretted it. “Not really.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means, that,” he sighed and turned his face up towards you, a look of deep regret set into his features. “I remember my name. And, that, whatever my job was, was dangerous. Dangerous and very, very deadly.”

A lot of what you feared crashed into you all at once. Was he admitting that he was a bad, violent man? Did you fall for another psychopath in sheep’s clothing? No, none of that felt right, but it seemed to be what he was saying. “How do you know? Do you actually remember?”

“In the dreams, nightmares rather, I see flashes of things. I don’t think they’re dreams, I think they’re real memories. Most of them, anyway.”

Dean resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to talk to you, tell you all the things that he’d seen behind closed eyes at night.  Sensing his mix of apprehension and surrender, you went to the fridge, grabbed two beers and sat them on the table.

Taking his beer, Dean popped the top with ease and took a long swig from the bottle. He popped the lid of yours as well and handed it to you. Lightly tapping the brims together, you both took a strong pull of the beer and sighed as the bubbles cascaded down your throat.

“Speak.”

“Alright,” he scoffed and drank again. More than half his beer was gone before he started talking about the dreams.

You listened, horrified, but what he saw in his head every night. Anytime you felt scared of him, you thought of that “man” that had come looking for him; the one with the gold-flashing eyes. Dean was distraught, his face wrought with fear and concern about what he was confessing to you.

When he was finished, you sat in silence staring off into the dark shadows of the room that lay past your kitchen. The sun had gone down, the rest of your house was sitting in complete darkness, sans the small hanging light over the kitchen table.

Dean didn’t say anything else. He simply finished his beer and grabbed two more from the refrigerator. He wanted to hear what you thought, hear anything from you, but the power to speak had been lost at that moment.

“Y/N… please say, something.”

“I’m processing,” you said, sitting back in the chair and finishing your beer. “Dean, you need to find these people. The ones that were in the car with you. They can probably fill in the blanks.”

Remembering the paper in your pocket, you fished it out and handed it back to him. “There’s a partial address on the back of that. I think maybe its time you hunted down “E” and found out who they are. Find out who you really are, too. You said you remember your name… is it even Dean?”

“Yeah,” he said and paused to open the second beer. “My name is Dean Winchester, and I think I have a brother named Sam.”

You fell back against the hilt of your chair. ‘ _No_ ’, you thought, ‘ _no, no, no, I don’t want to lose him yet._ ’

“This doesn’t change anything,” he said as if reading your mind. He sat forward and covered your knee with his scared but strong hand. “I’m not leaving, I don’t  _want_  to leave,” he hesitated in saying the next part because he didn’t want you to say yes, “…but I will if you want me too. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

Getting up from the chair, you started pacing the kitchen again.  _Dean Winchester_ , the name rolled around in your head, trying to make heads or tails of what to do. No, you didn’t ask for it, but here you were. Despite the uncertainty of what it all meant for the future, you didn’t want him to go, ever. And yet…

“You have to know who you are Dean. You have too. I need to know who you are—”

It was his turn to spring up from the table. His face was pensive and frustrated; fear laying beneath it all and driving him to feel scared.

“Don’t you get it?!” he roared, “what if I am some God-damned monster myself?! What if we figure this all out and you’re scared of me? Or, I try and hurt you?! Or my  _LIFE_  comes back to hurt you?” He squeezed his eyes shut trying to wrangle in the burst of emotion that was beginning to boil over. “For the last two weeks, I’ve lived an amazing, calm life here with you. I didn’t remember anything from before, but I knew, deep in my gut, that this was better. I just wanna forget. I don’t wanna live in those dreams anymore. I just…” he smirked, which gave way to the softest smile he’s graced you with, “I just want to be here with you. I don’t want to see any more blood.”

A single tear fell from his eye. The stranger stood before you, his hands wrapped so tightly around the neck of the chair that the whites of his knuckles were showing. You felt your worries and inhibitions begin to fall off you, much like leaves from the trees in the height of autumn. He was being real and sincere. This was the true version of himself. It wasn’t the overly happy store clerk you’d seen him be, and it wasn’t entirely the man who jumped into action like he did the night of the intruders. They were parts of him, but this man who stood before was the very truest version of Dean Winchester there could be.

“I need you to be safe, and  _feel_ safe with me,” he begged softly, his voice cracked with emotion.

“I’ve never felt safer in my life, Dean,” you said, a whisper of a smile on your lips, “I think in a way, you saved me too.” A smile of relief struck his face, and that’s when you knew, it didn’t matter who he was then, only right there at that moment.

Closing the gap between you, you were barely a breath away when you reached up to kiss him. Just as the first-time days before, it was sweet and soft. The difference that night was the veil of doubt had been sliced down, and you felt as if you could give him all of yourself. You could feel he wanted more because you did too; it was just a matter of who would be the one to take it there.

Kissing him was bliss and you needed to know how the rest of him felt. You wrapped your arms up around his neck, pulling him down harder on your mouth. Lips parted, tongues teased, and your entire core lit up like a fire doused in gasoline. His arms were around your waist, his hands traveling lower. This manic embrace of hands and lips you were tangled in, slowly maneuvered its way from the kitchen and into the hallway.

Dean pushed you up against the wall, knocking a picture askew in the commotion. He was pawing at your jacket that was still on, throwing it over his shoulder once he freed you from it; all the while not taking his lips from yours. His pushed your shirt up, the touch of his calloused fingers along the sensitive flesh of your belly was more intimate than the kissing itself. You’d not been touched there for a long time, and it sent more than a couple shivers speeding down your spine.

You parted long enough to pull Dean’s shirt up and over his head, pausing to look at his tattoo. He pressed his forehead to yours, as you lovingly traced it with your fingers; his eyes closed and relished in your touch, as much as he did in yours.

“Y/N,” his said, your name more of a growl than a word, “are you sure?”

Meeting his eyes, he found the answer he wanted and kissed you again. This time, all sweetness was gone and replaced by the kind of  _need_ that was driving both of you crazy and had been for some time.

You didn’t make it upstairs. Dean’s room was closer; only a few steps away. By the time he’d pushed the door open, he had one arm cradling your ass, and your legs wrapped around his torso. His other hand supported your back and tangled up in your hair, giving him the leverage to push you down harder on his mouth.

Dean loved the taste of your lips. He’d spent hours daydreaming about them since the first time he kissed you. As much as he wanted to taste the rest of you, he wasn’t ready to be done with your mouth.

You couldn’t breathe but in the best way possible. Dean didn’t relent or give you a moment to come up for air. He was almost manic in the way he kissed you; like if he stopped, it would all stop, and he wasn’t having any of that. He finally let go of your lips, allowing his mouth to explore the rest of you unencumbered. Dean trailed biting kisses down your neck to your chest, carefully covering each breast with his mouth, delighting in each purr he elicited from you.

He fell on the top of the bed with your body beneath his. The weight of him on top of you expelled all the breath from your lungs, but when his teeth grazed against your nipple, you inhaled sharply, arching your back to meet his in desperate need of more of him. Running your hands through and gripping his hair, you let his kisses trail down to the button of your jeans and made no moves to object when he undid them and pulled them down, taking them off along with your boots.

Dean stood up then but never broke his gaze from yours. Through that connection, you could feel how much he wanted you, and not just because he wanted sex, but that he wanted  _you_. He peeled off his own jeans and boots, leaving him only in his boxers and giving you a clear view of how much he  _really_ wanted you.

You swallowed thickly at the full sight of him, and when he hovered over you again, you could feel the hardness of him against your thigh through the thin layer of cotton. He bent down, kissed you softly and trying to be gentle, but that was hardly what either of you wanted.

“You really sure about this?” he asked gruffly, nipping at the flesh of your neck as he did.

Instead of answering him with words you simply moved under him and shimmed your underwear off, tossing them to the pile on the floor. Dean’s eyes sparkled along with the impish grin that unfolded across his face. He dove back down to your neck, continuing his assault on your flesh.

You felt his hand reach down and grip your thigh, slowly sliding down towards your sex. You felt him growl from deep within his chest when his fingers easily slipped into your folds that were already warm and glistening for him.

You wanted him to touch and kiss you everywhere, all at once. You wanted him to bury his face between your legs and fill you with every inch he had at the same time. Just desperate for more of him, you drug your nails down his back and frantically tugged at his boxers, pulling them low enough to expose the full length of him against your skin. He was teasing your clit unintentionally and all thoughts of his tongue all over you were out the window. You needed to feel him inside you and didn’t want to wait another second.

“I’m done waiting,” you mewed as your hands grabbed his ass and pushed him into you. The head of his cock found your entrance easily, causing a soft moan to escape his lips. His head hung beside yours, as he slowly moved his hips to further fill you. Dean took his time, not wanting to hurt you, or make it all happen to fast.

Letting him take control, you ever so lightly ran your fingertips up his back to his neck, causing a ripple of goosebumps to break out across his skin. Your mouth found his neck and bit down, dragging your teeth and tongue up towards his ear. Breathing heavily with whispers of his name was too much for him to maintain the slow sultry pace he was keeping.

Another growl ripped through him, as he swept your hands up, pinning them over your head as he moved faster, pushing in and out of you at a maddening pace. With each hard thrust and slap of skin, your orgasm was building, your cries of pleasure getting louder, both of which further fueled his need for you.

All you could do was hang on and let him have you as he wished; something you submitted to gladly. You felt your walls fluttering around the girth of his cock as it moved in and out of you. No words, just cries of orgasmic pleasure as your release engulfed him.

“Fuck!” he cried as his own climax rang out along with yours, pulling himself out quickly, leaving a trail of his own cum down the inner parts of your thighs.

Dean buried his head in your neck again and stayed that way until his body was done clenching in a euphoric release. He fell to the bed beside you, as you both tried to catch your breath from all that had just happened.

He chuckled. “Well, if that’s how you wanna argue, we can fight anytime…”

You laughed, but also lightly smacked the outside of his thigh. “Fuck you.”

“Again? Alright. Just gimme a minute. Two max—OW!” he yelled, feigning hurt as you smacked him again. This time he grabbed your wrist and rolled you over, so you were laying on top of him. He gazed at you softly, gently guiding your lips to his. Now that the urgency was gone, he could kiss you again, the way he liked; slow and soft.

He pulled away and tucked a hair behind your ear. “Are you alright?”

You nodded and smiled. “Better than ever.”

“Good,” he said as he flipped you to your back. “Shower?”

You nodded again and brought your hand to his cheek. “Dean…” there was so much to say, but you knew it wasn’t the right moment.

“I know,” he said, and gave you a knowing look, “but not now. Later, ok?”

“Yeah, ok.”

“Good. Now, about that shower…”

 

The shower was glorious. Dean started the water for you and left out the fluffiest towel he could find. Once you got in, he slipped in behind you and soaped you from head to toe. He gently maneuvered you through the water, rinsing your body off and leaving the occasional kiss on your shoulder as he went. You could feel he was ready for another round, but he kept the shower PG-13 much to your dismay.

Once you were done, he washed himself up quickly, shut off the water and helped you towel off. Back in your room, you slipped on a clean pair of pajamas and waited for Dean to throw on his own clothes.

“We never did eat, are you hungry?” you asked as you finished brushing out your hair.

“Me? Hungry? Nah… I’m never hungry.”

You rolled your eyes at his sarcasm and headed for the door. “Alright, fine. I’ll just heat up the leftovers for myself. Oh, I think there are two apple tarts left so–”

“Woman!” he yelled playfully and lunged after you, causing you to laugh and run down the stairs towards the kitchen.

As you rounded the corner of the still darkened hallway, you frozen in your tracks. Standing in the kitchen entrance was a large, familiar face. He wore a devious grin and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. You felt Dean come up behind you, stopping an inch from where you were. His hand instinctively grabbed the back of your shirt and pulled you protectively behind him; his body tensing to the presence looming ahead.

The hulking figure just chuckled and shook his head. “I told you I’d be back…”


	4. Chapter 4

[Originally posted by supernatural-jackles](https://tmblr.co/Zg2Bpr2Wk1D6H)

“That’s him,” you cautioned, your voice was a mere squeak behind Dean, but it was enough for him to hear you. “The guy from the store today.”

“Y/N, don’t,” Dean whispered.

“Don’t, what?” he asked, feigning curiosity. “She’s right, though. I did come looking for you today. But you were conveniently not there. Well,  _in_ convenient for me,” he said and animatedly stuck his thumb in his chest. “However, I thought that was better than coming back to the house. That was my brother’s idea. He’s not too bright. You’d know something about that, right little lady?” he winked at you and Dean instinctively reached behind him and grabbed your arm and pulled you into his back a little closer.

“Buddy, I’m gonna tell you once that it’s time for you to go. Don’t make me say it twice,” Dean snarled in a warning.

“Like after what you did to my family, I’d do anything you asked me to.”

“I wasn’t asking,” Dean cautioned, his demeanor still calm and collected, but you could feel how tense his muscles were.

The man moved from the door frame and took a few hesitant steps towards you. Dean stepped back, as did you, putting you near the long, thin hallway table that you used as a place for knick-knacks and assorted mail. You quickly scanned it, trying to find something that could be a weapon, but there was nothing except some magazines, a few pewter figurines, and some old silver candlesticks, with the candles in them, never used.

“Hey, girlie, you know what your boyfriend here did? Hm? Do you wanna know?” he was looking past Dean and right at you. “He came to my family’s home and killed them all. One by one. My mother, dead. My father, dead. My five sisters… all dead. My brothers and I were able to get free—”

“First of all,” Dean barked angrily, “You don’t talk to her, you crazy son of a bitch! You talk to me. Second, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”

“Oh, once again, convenience reigns down on Dean Winchester,  _Super Hunter_. Well, bully for you boy. I’m happy to give you a history lesson. See, you came into my house, and murdered my family because you presumed we were monsters. Because, we can do…” he paused and looked at you again, his nose wrinkled in a snarl, “things that others can’t. We weren’t hurting anyone. We were just trying to live out our lives until you and your hunting party showed up.”

Dean shook his head, trying to get the cobwebs of his memory cleaned out. While he was distracted you stealthily grabbed one of the candlesticks and held it at your side where the man couldn’t see. You didn’t know what could happen, or what he was, but your gut said grab something heavy and be ready to swing it.

Dean must have felt it against his leg, because he opened the hand that was behind his back holding onto you, to take it. He lifted his head, gripping the candlestick tightly when the colossal figure took another step forward. He raised the candlestick slight, the thing’s eyes glancing at it and then narrowing onto Dean.

Its lip curled into a snarling smile, just as a pair of headlights came through the windows of a passing car and its eyes flashed silvery gold. “You can’t remember what you did to my family, but you remember to grab the silver. Once a hunter, always a hunter.”

You felt Dean’s body stiffen again as he kept walking you backward, closer and  closer to the back door. Just as the creature lunged again, the back door flew open with a loud bang making you and Dean both wince and jump at the same time. You barely got a look at the man who created the diversion before he was shouting at you.

“Get down!” he yelled, withdrawing his gun and pointing it at the creature, firing twice. You screamed when the gun fired the first time, Dean gripping you tightly and shielding your head and ears from the second shot.

The creature was hit and stumbled backward through the kitchen entry. You only got a glimpse of him as he crashed into your kitchen table, but you definitely saw blood spray the walls and soak his shirt.

“Come on! There’s more coming!” The other man yelled, helping you both up off the floor. Dean looked at him, surprised, almost to the point of not moving, “Dean, come on! We gotta go!” He was grabbing Dean’s arm, pulling him towards the back door, barely giving you a second glance.

“Whoa, whoa, wait… Sam?” Dean refused to move, starring at the tall man with the shaggy hair in disbelief. “I know him,” he said, turning to you, “that’s Sam, he’s my brother.”

Sam smiled knowingly and nodded. His eyes flickered to the body on the floor in the kitchen. “Right, plenty of time for that. We really gotta go. He’s not the only shapeshifter sniffing around here.”

“Shapeshifter?” you asked, your voice and hands both trembling from the encounter. “What the fuck is a shapeshifter?!”

“Long story, I’ll explain in the car, come on!”

You looked to Dean who was slowly nodding in agreement. “Come on,” he said softly and took your hand. “It’s gonna be alright.”

You trusted him. But your gut was also twisting with the stench of something that wasn’t right. It could be the deceased monster on your floor, but even still, something was off.

Slipping on the shoes by the back door and grabbing your keys, you and Dean followed Sam out to the car. It was the same sleek, black car that you saw parked outside of the store that day. Pausing, you watched Sam jump in the driver’s seat, and Dean opened the passenger door, flipping up the seat for you to climb into the back. You looked back at the house, and back to Dean apprehensively.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked, adding a pensive glance in Sam’s direction.

“Yeah. I don’t remember everything, but I know his face. He’s definitely Sam. The one in the car with me, and in a lot of the other dreams. Let’s just go before more of these… things, come along. We’ll figure it all out and I promise, it’ll be alright.”

You nodded hesitantly, deciding to trust him and crawled into the back seat. Once Dean was in, Sam turned the key and the engine roared to life as he took off into the dark, deserted street.

“Where are we going?” you asked, trying to ignore the feeling that pooled in your stomach.

“Safehouse. It’s a drive, but we should be there by morning,” Sam said, giving you the briefest of glances in the rearview. “Is that a problem?”

“Um, yeah, for me it is,” you said, sitting up straighter and leaning closer to the front seat. “I have a store to open in the morning, not to mention that there’s a dead body in my house! Dean, I can’t go to some safe house a hundred miles away, I—I need to go back…”

“Maybe there’s a comprise here. What if we go to the store. Just to regroup and catch up. I know I could use a breather and, uh,” he glimpsed thoughtfully at Sam, “say hi to my brother.”

Sam reluctantly agreed and redirected the car towards your store. Within twenty minutes you were in the parking lot and unlocking the back door to the storeroom. Flipping on the lights, you went about making coffee for you, while Dean got reacquainted with his brother. You didn’t want to eavesdrop on them as they sat at the table, but you could hear a bit of what they were saying, and none of it sounded good. You let them know the coffee was ready, poured a cup and went out onto the main floor to gather your thoughts.

You’d barely been able to process what happened that night between you and Dean, much less the events that happened after. Hands still slightly trembling, you brought the coffee cup to your lips and sipped at the steaming hot liquid. It made you think of the day Shane told you your coffee sucked and tasted like sludge. That was the same day you’d found Dean. If you had known what that man would bring into your life, would you still have stopped? Glancing up, you saw him approaching, an affectionate smile on his lips and his eyes soft, lovingly locking with yours. Right then, all you could think was,  _‘Yes, I still would stop for him. I will always stop for him.’_

“Hey,” he said, “you doin’ alright?”

“I honestly have no idea, Dean. This is just all a bit much and I need more time to process it all.”

“Tell me about it,” he chuckled darkly and cleared his throat. “Look, I know what you must be thinking… you told me so. Soon as we get close, my life literally came crashing in. I’m so, so sorry, Y/N. With everything that happened tonight, too. I really just wanted to get some food and go back to bed.”

A wistful smile touched your lips. “Me too. But not what we got. So, what happens now?” You quickly looked past him and lowered your voice. “And, um, can we talk about how your brother just knew where you were and busted through the door?”

“Yeah, I don’t know where to start. I asked how he knew, he said he’d been watching the store for a few days to make sure it was me. Was going to come knocking tonight, heard the commotion and busted in.”

“Oh,” you said, trying to seem positive, but that feeling… it was persistent and becoming louder.

“I just wish I could remember everything. I didn’t want to before, but now its getting a little inconvenient. I can’t keep you safe if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

“Dean, I’ll be fine, it’s you I’m worried about. You just remembered your name and got your brother back all in one day. Then there’s the confrontation with the hulk back at my house. It’s gotta be overwhelming.”

“I can handle it.” He saw your look of uncertainty and crossed his heart. “I swear, Y/N. I’m good.”

You placed your hand on his chest and he covered it with his own. “I care about you, Dean. I don’t know how this all goes, or how it ends. But I care, a lot. I just want you to be okay.”

Dean kissed you and you didn’t realize how much you had needed it until he did. Sam cleared his throat as he walked into the room, causing your moment to end far too soon.

“I hate to break up the moment, but uh, we should go.”

“Go?” you asked, a bit of panic lining your words. “Go where? Why?”

Dean drew in a deep breath and passed Sam a rueful look. He simply shrugged in response, as if saying ‘o _h well’_.

“Sam told me a little about what happened, how I got hurt. Also, a bit about what we do,” he glanced over at Sam who was shifting uncomfortably, anxious to leave. “I want to explain it all, at least best I understand it myself. But just knowing what I do now, I can feel it all starting to come back.”

“That doesn’t tell me where you have to go!”

“We have to finish this,” Sam said intrusively. “There are still two of them out there. We can’t just let them live.”

“And you need Dean to do that? He just barely remembers his name! What kind of brother are you?!” you could feel your anger rising, as well as Dean’s hands, were taking you by the shoulders and turning you back to face him.

“Y/N, it’s okay, he’s right. We have to finish it. If not, they’re just gonna to keep coming at me, at us. I can’t take the chance that you’ll get hurt because of this. I’m gonna go with Sam and finish what was started. Then, I’ll come back and we’ll figure out what happens next.”

You hated the idea of him leaving. Dean’s brother or not, Sam made you feel uncomfortable, but you had to let him do what he felt he needed too.

“How long?”

“A day, two tops,” Dean answered. He looked like he believed what he was saying, so you chose to believe him too.

“We really need to get going. Sorry about all this, Y/N. It was good to meet ya. Dean, I’ll be in the car.” Sam gave a half wave and left out back through the warehouse.

“Guess he’s a man of few words,” Dean said with a forced smile through gritted teeth.

“What do I do about the body at my house? I can’t go back there… no matter what it was.”

“I told him we have to take care of that before we go. I told you, I’m gonna make sure you’re alright. I wouldn’t go if I didn’t think you would be.”

“Do you have the new phone with you that you got the other day?” you asked, thinking about how you just flew out of the house with nothing but the clothes on your back and keys to the house and store.

“No, but I promise to grab it when we go back to the house,” he paused when the horn blared from the parking lot. “An impatient man of few words, apparently.”

“Please be careful. Call me when you can,” you said, biting on your lower lip trying to hold back the tears until he was gone.

“Real soon, promise.”

Dean kissed you goodbye, letting his lips linger. You wished to be back in bed, never having gotten out in the first place. You should have just laid there, tangled in the newness of his touch, and lost in his aroma. He reluctantly pulled back and gave you a playful wink before he turned and disappeared into the shadows of the warehouse and through the back door.

When you heard the car leave the parking lot, you sat down on the floor right where you were and started to sob.

* * *

 

You woke sometime later, the early morning sun prying its way in through the bare spots in the blinds and casting the perfect beam of light to fall across your eyes. There was a distant tapping that helped bring you around. Swiping at your mouth with the back of your hand, you cleared away the bit of drool that had formed since you passed out.

Finding your feet, you realized someone was knocking at the front door. “Hold on, I’m comin’!”

Shuffling to the door, you peaked around the shade and saw Bill standing there, his weathered face beaming with a bright smile.

“Mornin’! You openin’?”

“One sec, Bill.”

You dropped the shade and tried to straighten your hair to not look like you slept on the hardwood floor. When you finally unlocked and opened the store, Bill wandered in, concerned that nothing was ready as per usual.

“No coffee, no Dean. Everythin’ alright puddin’?”

“Not even a little. Any chance you could maybe give me a ride home? I gotta go home and change, shower, eat. Then I’ll come back ‘round and open up properly. But you can get your tobacco now if you need it.”

“Later’s fine. C’mon, let’s get ya home and back on track,” the old man said through a nearly toothless smile. “Ain’t in no hurry no how.”

When Bill’s ancient truck pulled up to the house, you half expected to see the sleek black Chevy sitting in your driveway, but all there was, was your truck. Blessedly, Bill asked no more questions and didn’t invite himself in. Said he would see you back at the store after lunch to grab his daily basket of supplies.

Once he was clear from sight, you went to the back door and carefully pushed it open. Unsure of what you’d find, you kept your eyes diverted from where the body had been laying the night before. Finally working up the nerve, you looked down the hallway to the kitchen and saw nothing except the table and chairs. No blood, no body, no sign of any struggle.

You checked every room on the main floor, pausing before going into Dean’s room. The bed still wasn’t made, and your pile of clothes was in the same place. You sat down on the edge of the bed and ran your fingers gingerly along the sheet where you had just been with him. You scooped up the pillow he’d slept on and hugged it close to you; it was still ripe with his scent.

Slowly, you made your way up to the bedroom where you’d left your cell phone. Picking it up, you found Dean’s new number and dialed, hoping he’d pick up and you could just hear his voice. As it rang, you heard a distant sound from downstairs. Following it, you traced the bell-like jingle back to Dean’s room. The call went to voicemail, and the sound stopped ringing. A feeling of dread washed over you as you hit dial again.

From the pile of clothes on the floor, a simultaneously buzzing and jingle rang out. You bent down and picked up the jeans he’d been wearing last night and found the cell phone still in his pocket.

* * *

 

Three days went by, and there was no word from Dean. You went back and forth to the store just like every day, but it was just going through the motions. It was meaningless and hard, but you forced yourself to do it so you wouldn’t go crazy waiting to hear from him, wondering if you ever would. When you were home, the nights were lonely as you sat on the couch with the TV flickering in front of you, absently shuffling through the Netflix menu not actually seeing the choices. Laying in bed one night and unable to sleep, you got up and started pacing the house. It was so quiet when he was gone, and every second that passed, you missed him more and more.

Going into Dean’s room, you’d picked up the pile of clothes and put them on the bed but hadn’t gotten around to washing them yet. With the bundle in your arms, you went towards the wash and started cleaning out the pockets. You got to your jeans, and when you touched the small, folded paper in the fifth pocket, your breath caught in your throat.

Unfolding it, you flipped it over and once again the small, partial address was there. “It’s better than nothing,” you said to the empty house and felt the smallest wisp of hope flutter in your gut.

* * *

 

[Originally posted by sokkarang](https://tmblr.co/Zvi2_wiBAcFQ)

“Thank God for Google,” you whispered as you maneuvered the truck down the long dirt road. You could see something in the distance, but it certainly didn’t look like much. It took longer than you had hoped to find the source of the address on the back of the paper, but once you did, getting there was easy. Less than eighty miles away, an easy day’s drive… and now here you were, finally face to face with Harvelle’s Roadhouse. Whether it would lead you to answers or not was up for debate. But at this point, it was all you had.

It was just about dust when you parked the truck off to the side. The neon sign just turned on, red and white, flickering the name in a less than welcoming fashion. Out front was a few motorcycles and old, beat up trucks. Further off at the end of the dirt lot, was a sleek back Chevy, just like the one Sam had been driving. Only this one was a four-door and bared the scars of a seriously bad accident. Your hackles were up and that familiar feeling from the night Sam came was stirred up again.

When you walked through the front door, the interior was dimly lit and scarcely occupied. A scattering of people was sitting at the bar, a bunch more at a table in the far corner. No one noticed you walked in until you got closer to the bar, trying to check the faces of those sat there.

That’s when you saw him. The same tall man with shaggy hair that busted through your back door and shot a man in your home.

“Sam?”

He turned to look at you and smiled but eyed you suspiciously. “Yeah? Do I know you?”

“Sam, it’s me, Y/N. Where’s Dean? Is he with you?!”

Sam’s face frozen when you mentioned Dean’s name. The woman behind the bar heard you and stepped up quickly, her eyes excited and alert. “Dean? You know where he is?” she asked, tone thick with worry.

“I—I thought he was with you,” you replied, flickering a look between them and finally settling on Sam. “Sam, I just saw you a couple days ago, you came to my house, said you and Dean needed to deal with the—” you paused and looked around to make sure no one else was near, and lowered your voice to a whisper, “shapeshifters. You shot one in my house!”

Sam sat up straighter in his chair. It was about this time that a young, blonde girl carrying a tray with empty glasses on it sidled up to the bar on your other side.

“What’s going on mom?” she asked the bartender, who just shook her head and shrugged.

“I dunno, this girl here says she was with Dean a couple days ago, but that he left with Sam.”

“That’s not possible,” she said, “Clearly Sam is here and hasn’t left other than to go look for Dean. So, what’s going on?”

Sam finally was able to speak, his face still twisted in shock. “Jo, Ellen, can I just have a minute with her, I’ll—”

“You’re E!” you exclaimed, hit with the sudden revelation. Digging for a scrap of paper in your pocket, you pulled it out and pushed it across the bar. “He had that in his pocket. He didn’t know who he was when I found him. Did you write that?”

Ellen sighed, a mixture of relief and concern took charge of her expression and she nodded. “I did.” She handed it to Sam and his shoulders slumped.

“How long ago? I mean, how long ago did you see him? When did you first find him? Did he say anything? Anything at all?” Sam was desperate, pleading for you to give him something.

“I found him wandering the side of the road about three weeks ago, give or take. His head was bloody, didn’t remember his name. Refused the hospital, so I took him home and patched him up. He was staying with me until…”

You shrugged, the words caught in your throat. You could feel Jo glaring at you but did your best to ignore it. Dean was the focus now, not whatever drama awaited with her.

“That’s why he didn’t… Ah dammit,” Ellen cursed.

The four of you stood silently for a minute. Finally, you spoke up. “Ellen, is it? Can I get a beer? I’ll tell you everything I can, but it would be easier with some booze.”

“First thing’s first,” Ellen said and unsheathed a long silver bladed knife. “We need to be sure you’re really you.” She reached for your arm and pressed the dull side of the blade into your hand, and when it had no reaction, the three of them looked at each other satisfied.

“Alright. Whatcha drinkin’?”

“Whatever you grab is fine,” you replied and watched as she put the blade back on her hip. You were scared but also exhilarated. These people knew Dean, these were really his people. But what he’d said about his life and his job had been real, too. It was deadly and dangerous, and now he was missing again because of it. You felt an instant camaraderie with them because you also knew what it was like to have loved and lost Dean Winchester. You were all in this together now.

Over the next hour, you sat and talked with them, giving them all the details of how you met and lived with Dean for the past few weeks. Right up until his “brother” Sam came to rescue him the night the shifter had come into the house. Only leaving out the part about the intimacy that had grown between you. Though, the more you talked, the more you could feel Jo’s eyes studying you as you spoke, silently interrogating everything you said with intense scrutiny.

“I bet that shifter ain’t dead either,” Ellen chimed in when you talked about the body missing off the floor. “Other one probably grazed him with a regular bullet, that won’t kill ‘em unless it’s pure silver.”

“So that was all just a setup?” you asked, remembering the feeling of how wrong it all felt.

“I wouldn’t put it past ‘em,” she said with a shrug.

They told you about the hunt and confrontation with the family of monsters they’d been tracking. How those monsters orchestrated a string of robberies and murders and got away with it all because of what they could do. Sam went into gory detail about how shifters change, shedding their skin as they morphed into someone else. How they can also take the memories, as well as the form, of the person they are mirroring.

“The ‘Sam’ that came to get Dean had to be one of the three that got away,” Ellen said, grabbing you and Sam each another beer.

“There had been a night where a few guys tried to break into my house. Honestly, I thought it was my step-brother and his goon friends just trying to scare me, but maybe it was them.”

“It’s possible. Shifters like to play with and taunt their victims. At least this family of them did,” Sam said before drinking his beer. “So now we have to figure out where the hell they’d take Dean.”

“Sa—I mean, the other you, said he was going to go to a safe house, and it was far, but we’d be there by morning. I don’t know what direction they went in though.”

“We go back to where it started. The homestead. The only safe place they coulda taken him,” Ellen noted and pulled out an old, worn map from behind the bar. “Here,” she pointed to a place that was closer to your shop than the bar, “this is where it started. So, I say we head back there. Could be there in an hour, two tops. We’d have the cover of night, the element of surprise…”

Sam considered it and nodded. “We have too. I can’t just leave him there. God only knows what they’ve done to him already.”

A sickening thought crossed your mind. “Would they… I mean, do you think they killed him?”

Ellen took your hand to comfort and quell your fears. “If it was any other thing than a shifter, I’d say there was a good chance. But these yahoos, they just want to mess with us, hunters in general. I believe they’d hurt him. But they’ll wait till all of us are in one spot and try to do something.”

“Do what?”

“That’s when they’ll try to kill us,” Jo said matter-of-factly, a tilt of her head and the cynical expression on her face relayed her annoyance with you loud and clear.

“But they all know you’re here, right? If they could change to Sam, they get his memories? They’d know about this place, so why bother going to the lengths to take Dean, especially if he doesn’t have all his memory back? Why not just come here?”

“Because, this place is full of hunters,” Ellen responded with a twitch of a smile. “It’s a hunter’s bar. They wouldn’t stand a chance here. They need us to play on their turf, and that’s why they took Dean, he’s bait. So that’s what we’re gonna do, we’re gonna take the bait.”

You shook your head, mostly in disbelief that any of this was happening. Also, in part because of how calm they all seemed. They voluntarily went out and faced down creatures, some evil and vile ones that are out to do nothing but harm and kill people. It took a moment to process, but you realized how important they were and how important it was that you helped them find and get Dean back.

“Ok, then that’s what we do,” you said and drank from the bottle.

“I’m sorry? We? No, there’s no  _we_  in this,” Jo spoke up, her entire posture dripping with attitude. “No way you are coming. You’re gonna stay right here and let us handle this. He’s our family. Not yours. Thanks for the intel but you can go now, honey.”

“Jo!” Ellen reprimanded and flashed a warning look. “Y/N is just as invested in finding Dean as we are. It ain’t your call if she comes along or not. It’s hers.” She stopped and turned to you, taking all of you in and giving a brief, singular nod of approval. “So long as you know what you’re riskin’.”

“I think I do,” you said holding Ellen’s gaze and pushing your shoulders back. “Besides, there’s no way I am letting you go without me. I’m gonna be there when you find Dean. I need to know he’s alright.”

“And why’s that? You sweet on him or somethin’?” Jo asked, her hip hitched out, arms defensively folded across her chest.

“I just care, okay? He helped me out, a lot. He was there for me when he had no idea who he was, or where he came from. He kicked my shithead brother out, he made me laugh. He…” your chest was heavy with how much you missed him, how much he’d come to mean to you.

The bar got suddenly quiet. You knew it was just your senses dulling the atmosphere while you became briefly lost in the memory of him. His touch, smell, voice, laugh…

“Yeah, I guess I am sweet on him, Jo. If that’s a problem for you,  _honey_ , we can discuss it all once he’s safe and sound. But if we’re going, let’s go. This standing around and talking isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Ellen tried to stifle a laugh when she saw the spiteful look twisted onto Jo’s face. Sam raised his brows and forced the smirk from his face as he stood up from the stool.

“Y/N’s right. If we’re gonna go, let’s go.” Sam said, putting on his coat.

“Alright, listen up!” Ellen’s voice bellowed across the bar. “We got an all-hands-on-deck situation here! If you’re up for a hunt, gear up ‘n then let’s go! If not, pay your tab and head out. Bar’s closed!”

At once, all the other patrons began grumbling, but got up and cleared out. A handful was waiting in the parking lot for more direction on the hunt. Ellen filled them all in, while Jo closed the bar and Sam exchanged some of his gear from the broken back Impala to your truck. The rescue caravan took shape, with Ellen and Jo at the helm, Sam in the truck with you following close behind and three other cars in tow as you took off to find Dean.

 

[Originally posted by study-of-supernatural](https://tmblr.co/Z5qz-m2ZC-HWQ)

 

As you bounced down the bumpy road, you glanced at Sam in the passenger seat. He noticed it, and after the second time, he smiled. “What?”

“It’s that, I’m glad that you’re you. That other you, he was a dick. I hated that Dean’s brother was a dick. You’re not.”

Sam laughed, “Well if you ask Dean, you may get a different answer.”

“I doubt it. When he thought he’d found his brother, he was happy. He didn’t say it, but I could see it. He had these nightmares, and I’d hear him call for you a lot. I could feel him struggle, tossing and turning all night with them. It broke my heart.”

“You guys got close?”

You glanced at him again, unsure of how much to divulge. “We did.”

He nodded in understanding. “Thank you, for taking care of him. Making sure he didn’t die. I love Jo and Ellen, they are family. But Dean, he’s all I really got. He’s my big brother and not knowing where he was hard. I’m really glad he was in good hands.”

You offered a grin in return and turned your eyes back to the road. “Can I ask you something? Something sorta personal about Dean?”

“Shoot.”

“Was he with Jo? I mean, were they together?” you asked, but dreaded the response he could give.

Sam sighed with a slight chuckle. “Uh, no. Not exactly. There was always a weird flirty thing going on, but it never really went anywhere.”

“Just don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. Not really lookin’ for a catfight on top of everything else, you know?”

Sam just laughed. “Knowing my brother like I do, even without his memory at a hundred percent, he wouldn’t have stayed with you as long as he did if he didn’t want too. You were clearly something he stuck around for.”

That warmed you. Hearing that from someone who really knew Dean made you feel like your place in this whole situation wasn’t entirely misconstrued. “Thanks, I kinda needed to hear that.”

“I gotta say, you’re handling all this pretty well. Not many people do after hearing the truth of what’s out there.”

You shrugged. “Well, its part of Dean’s life… is his life, right? Then, I have to accept it, if I want to be in his life.”

“Do you want to be in his life? Once this is all over?”

“Sam, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than that.”

The admission lay heavily in the air, neither one of you feeling the need to say anything more. Sam leaned forward and turned on the radio, turning the cassette tape back on and sending the sounds of AC/DC throughout the old, tinny speakers.

Sam laughed. “Something tells me Dean feels the same way.”

* * *

##  **_Part 5 [FINALE] Publishing on or before 8/24/18_ **


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last part of The Stranger. Once you read, if you feel like you want more from this particular world, I have ideas, and I’d love to continue it. But I’d love to do so as a requested series - one written with prompts or requests by you! If that’s something you’re up for, finish this part and feel free to send me an ask!

The sun had not quite yet started its ascent in the sky by the time you reached your destination. Ellen and Jo’s truck had veered off the road about a mile ago, but Sam instructed you to keep going. You two, along with one of the other hunters along for the ride, were to scout out the far side of the shifter’s homestead. It was more than several acres and lots of places to hide, so having everyone take a position was the best way to try and figure out where they might be keeping Dean.

Sam talked strategy over the walkie-talkies Ellen handed out before leaving the bar, and you could hear Jo chiming in with her two cents. Once he was over and out, he briefed you on what they had decided and started breaking down the best ways to kill a shifter.

“Here,” he said and handed you a gun. “It’s Dean’s favorite. Ever shot one before?”

“Yeah, when I was younger. I hate the damn things.”

“Well, unfortunately, you’re gonna need it. Its loaded with silver bullets,” he retracted his hand with the gun in it, released the clip and showed you the modified rounds. “One of these to the heart will drop a shifter no problem.”

“Wouldn’t a bullet to the heart drop anything no problem?”

“Not in our line of work,” Sam answered. “Unless, you have something like silver, or witch killing bullets.”

“Bullets to kill witches?” you laughed, “Seriously?”

Sam nodded. “You’d be amazed at some of the things you need to take out a particular monster.”

“And out of curiosity, where do you find this stuff? Just a supply run to the local Monsters-B-Gone quickie mart?”

“Maybe not as public, but, yeah, there are certain shops out there that have a secondary business. Harvelle’s is one of them sometimes. Hunters can get more there if they need it than just a beer. Other times, its all stuff we have to make or find ourselves.”

“So Y'all have your own private network of resources?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Sam agreed. Before he could go into more detail, the walkie buzzed and Ellen’s voice crackled through.

“I got eyes on Dean. They have him tied up in the barn. Two standing outside the doors talkin’. Jo’s gone to try and get a closer look with Todd and Bruce. You guys down there on the far end, seein’ any movement?”

Your heart jumped at the sound of his name. You just wanted to get out the truck and start running towards him but deferred your instincts in favor of the professionals and sat quietly. Sam picked up the binoculars and scanned what he could see of the property.

“No, nothing back here. It’s still a bit dark, but I can see the rear door to the barn. We can leave a lookout here, and I think there’s enough cover to get us to the door. Any chance you guys can take the front? If there’s only three left—”

“Wait, Jo’s back—” the walkie went silent and you and Sam passed each other a look of concern. When it came back to life, Ellen was quiet at first, the white noise filling the silence of the truck. “Sam… there’s a bunch more than three. Jo said she saw at least six or seven bodies down there. Can’t be sure they’re all shifters, but, we gotta be real careful.”

An idea popped in your head, and you knew none of them would go for it, but it was the only thing that could possibly work.

“Sam… Ellen, can you hear me?”

They could.

“I have an idea. I know I’m new to all this, but it could work. Just hear me out…”

* * *

 

Explaining your idea, both Sam and Ellen shut you down immediately. They wouldn’t even consider what you proposed until Jo spoke up from somewhere behind her mom. You were glad she was supporting your plan, even if it was for the wrong reasons.

“Look, it’s the best chance we have, and I know the risk. I want to do this,” you said into the walkie, but was looking straight at Sam. “I  _need_  to, for Dean.”

Finally, they agreed to it, albeit with a few tweaks. The first of which was to meet back up on the road and then go over it all one more time. Once you had, you pointed out that the sun would be up soon, that if it was going to work, you needed the cover of dark or at least very early morning. Sam handed you a silver blade and showed you where to put it for best use, along with Dean’s gun. Once you had them firmly secured, he handed you one of Dean’s jackets, which helped to hide your weapons a little better.

“You sure about this?” he asked watching you shrug on the coat, pausing before climbing into Ellen’s truck. “What if you have to defend yourself? You sure you’ll be alright with the gun?”

“Sam, stop worrying. I’m sure. I’ll be fine, and it’ll work. I grew up with an abusive step-father and step-brother. I know how to take care of myself.  _And,_  I took drama in high school. I think I can play a part when I need too,” you said, trying to remain confident and giving him a wink.

Sam chuckled, but there was a layer of nervous behind it. “Alright. We’ll see you soon, and hopefully, Dean too.”

You got in your truck and cut the wheel back towards the shifter’s home base. Ellen took off in the other direction and the others were probably already in place. You made yourself look disheveled and tried to muster up a bit of hysterics. Being exhausted and stressed helped lend to your appearance and you hit the gas, driving the truck like a lunatic down the road and slamming on the brakes just in time before hitting the man standing at the cattle gate. Luckily, the headlights hit his face and gave you the answer you needed about the guard at the entry.

“Whoa, this is private property. You can’t be here lady,” he said approaching your open window. He was on high alert, but your tear stained face and whiny tone distracted him just enough to move his hand away from whatever weapon he hovered over.

“I—I need to talk to Sam! Please! I’m being chased, he’s the only one that can help me!”

He studied you for a brief moment trying to understand your request.

“Sam, Dean, are they here?! Sam told me this was the safe house! We got separated and—”

“Ohhh, Sam. Um, yeah, he’s… uh…” the guy turned to survey the property behind him. When there was no one else in sight, he turned back to you and was about to speak, but you didn’t give him the opportunity too.

You quickly let the silver knife slip from the sleeve of the coat and you pierced the shifter in the heart. When the body hit the ground, you jumped out of the truck and quickly opened the gate, not bothering to close it again once you drove through.

The road you drove along was bumpy and full of holes, but you drove fast enough that you barely felt the jostling of the old Ford. You reached the main house where several men were standing on the porch. One of which, was the imitation Sam Winchester.

Quickly re-securing the knife in your sleeve, you jumped out and made a big deal of calling for him.

“Sam! Sam is that you!?” Seeing him walking towards you, even knowing he wasn’t the real Sam, cause a chill to run down your spine.

“Uh… Y/N? Yeah, I’m… it’s me. You okay?” he asked, feigning concern. From the corner of your eye, you could see the other men snickering but to play your part you had to pretend to not notice.

“No! I’m not! I’m being chased! I don’t know who they are, but they showed up to the store and I barely got away. I’ve been trying to find you everywhere! Where’s Dean? Is he alright?!”

You grabbed the scruff of his shirt, being overly dramatic and desperate. He helped you up by the elbows. For a brief moment you thought he may feel the handle of the knife, but he didn’t. You expected him to ask about the guy at the gate, he didn’t, so you continued with the strategy.

“Please, I need to see him. I need both of your help! These people, they’re following me… Two women, and one guy. I didn’t see him well, but I saw the girls, they were shooting at me! Who are they?!”

FauxSam was trying to stifle a smile until you mentioned the people chasing you. “They’re not good people. We’ll take care of them. As for Dean, well I’m sorry to say Dean is indisposed at the moment. I feel terrible we didn’t get back for you. We took care of the problem then went for drinks. He’s been tied up with some blonde ever since.”

“He—he what?” you whimpered. It wasn’t real, that you knew, but just the idea of it was enough to lend authenticity to your reaction.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. But, you know… I’ll tell you what. I’ll take you to him, let you see for yourself.”

“Yeah,” you sniffled, dragging the back of your hand across your face. “Yes, I need to see for myself!”

He helped you up off the ground and motioned for the others to come over. You were trying to get an idea of where everything was, so when it was time to go, you could make a fast getaway without any surprises. FauxSam told them to go back inside and get ready, someone may be coming after you.

They nodded in understanding and he started you down the path towards the barn. As you got closer, you could feel his grip getting tighter on your arm, and you knew that he had no intention of letting you leave the barn. You just had to get inside, first.

When you reached the doors, he unlocked the latch and pulled it open with one hand. Dean was sitting on the floor, passed out. His head and face were bloody, his arms tied around a post behind him.

“Dean?!” you cried, knowing it would prompt the confrontation, but you also hoped it would wake him up. It didn’t.

FauxSam pushed you forward into the barn, but the doors didn’t close behind you. A tall, blonde with resting bitch face came from the shadows with a length of rope. “See, told ya Dean was tied up with a blonde. Am I a man of my word, or what?”

From outside, there were shouts and an eruption of gunfire coming from the house. FauxSam turned to the blonde and pushed you at her. “Tie her up!”

She did as told while he took off outside to see what was happening. She grabbed a fistful of your hair and threw you down to the ground near Dean hard enough for your head to bounce off the wooden beam you were about to be tied too.

“Might as well let you two be close for the remainder of time we keep you alive,” she snickered as she bound your hands together near his.

Dean was still unconscious. You could feel his hands against yours, and regardless of the situation, felt a rush of relief. They were still warm. The moment the blonde turned her head, you shook your arm the best you could and finally felt the knife slipping down into your hand. Going at it completely blind, you let your hands feel around for the best place to start cutting. The consistent sawing motion against Dean’s hands must have been enough to wake him up. You could feel him moving behind you and nearly burst into tears of relief.

More noise from out front. You did your best to move faster, but the knife was taking its sweet time getting through the ropes. Dean moaned behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see where blonde Barbie went and found her standing at the entryway trying to make out what was happening at the house. She turned quickly towards you, snarled a smile, and you watched as she seamlessly transformed into you.

The timing was unfortunate. Just as you realized what she was doing, Dean woke up. He didn’t see you tied up behind him, just the fake you by the door.

“Y/N?” he asked groggily, trying to shake the cobwebs out. “What the hell…”

“Dean, it’s not me!” you called from behind him, causing him to turn as much as he could and saw you tied up with him.

“What the hell?!” he barked again, looking between the two of you.

She started to mimic your voice, pleading with him to look at her. Pay attention to her. He was listening, and just as the knife broke through the ropes, Dean was trying to get up on his feet. With the jumbled mess of knots, you had cut through his binds instead of your own. The knife fell from your hand just before he got up. You were desperately trying to find it, but couldn’t.

All you could do is search for it blindly as you watched Dean approach the other you. She couldn’t help but wear your expression of surprise as he stalked her way.

“You’re supposed to be tied up!” she screamed in your voice.

“Yeah, well, you’re not supposed to look like my girlfriend!” Dean bit back. That’s when you saw he had the blade, having grabbed it as he was getting up. He raised it and quickly plunged it right into her heart.

A small scream escaped you before you bit your lip to hold it back. Dean turned back to you, his face going momentarily soft before he was on his knees by your side and cutting you loose. The moment your arms were free, you curled them around his neck and held him tightly. Standing, still in the embrace, Dean wrapped you up and buried his face into your neck.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, his words muffled into your neck. The feeling of his breath against your neck made you squeeze him tighter.

“I can’t believe we found you.” Your voice broke slightly, and he pulled back for a moment to gaze at your face.

Dean gave himself about fifteen seconds to take you in, leaving you with a soft smile. “We gotta go.”

“I know—” gunfire, a bit closer now rang out “—they’re coming. Come on!”

You grabbed Dean’s hand and headed towards the rear barn door. Just as you grabbed the handle, the door was jerked open and Sam was standing there. He saw Dean and a smile broke out across his face. He gave you a nod of approval and grabbed his brother by the shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Dean wiggled out of it and pulled you close to him, as he raised the knife in his hand in defense. “Back off you freak! I know you’re not Sam! Try to scam me with some second-rate replica of my Baby, then try to hurt my girl?! Man, you don’t know the depths of pain I wanna reign down on you!”

“Dean! No, it’s me! The real me!” Sam held his hands up defensively, taking his finger off the trigger of the gun he was carrying. “Dean look at me. It’s me. I’m your real brother. The shifter, the one that took my form, he’s dead. We got ‘em.”

 

 

From behind, Ellen and Jo came running up, both of them splattered with blood and breathless. Ellen smiled at you and Dean. “Glad you’re both still standin’.” She gave you a wink and pulled Dean in close, giving him a quick squeeze.

“Ellen? Jo?” Dean questioned his face a mixture of surprise, confusion, and relief.

“I’m all for family reunions, but we better book it, still a few shifters left as far’s I can tell. Todd and Bruce got a couple round back, but there’s a lot more gunfire from out from then there should be,” Jo informed before turning back and checking the perimeter.

Dean still looked suspicious, but seeing Ellen and Jo, with Sam, gave him enough trust to follow when everyone started to move out of the barn. Within a few minutes, you pushed through a couple yards of thicket to find most of your caravan waiting for you.

Todd and Bruce were just pulling in and getting out of their truck, but there was no sign of the Nate, other hunter that had come along for the ride. When Ellen silently questioned where they were with a single look, they both slowly shook, then hung their heads. A moment of silence rippled through the small group, and for the first time since hooking up with Dean’s family, you could feel the enormous sense of loss they collectively had. Dean’s fingers curled into yours and squeezed your hand; he didn’t let go.

“We’ll take care of Nate proper, but right now I need everyone to put ‘em out. Gotta check and be sure everyone’s who they say they are.”

Everyone obliged, and everyone passed the silver test. Dean, realizing Sam was really Sam, embraced him with a hard smack on the back and sigh of relief. “Man am I glad to see you.”

“Same here,” Sam replied; his whole expression was smiling. “Took us a while, but we found you. We got some catching up to do, huh?” Sam’s eyes flickered to you, but his attempt to be subtle went unsuccessful.

Ellen cleared her throat. “First thing’s first, let’s go see if we can find the others and rid this Earth of any other shifters we come across. Y/N’s truck is still up by the house. Let’s circle back ‘round, see what we can see.”

“Whoa,” Dean griped and tugged on your elbow so you couldn’t walk away. “ _Your_  truck is up there. Why? Why were you anywhere near these  _things_? Speaking of… how the hell did you get tied up in there, cause last I remember–”

“She’s the reason we got to you so easily, Dean. Y/N had the plan, took out the guy at the gate, got us a way in to easily distract them,” Sam answered and looked at you, a sense of pride written across his face. “You did great.”

Dean turned to you with a look of pride and fear, “I guess we have some catching up of our own to do.”

“Guys, we really gotta go. Plenty of time for this later,” Ellen said with a warning.

Everyone agreed and dispersed between the vehicles and headed back towards the area of the gunfire. Your truck was where you left it but now surrounded by half a dozen bodies. When you got out of the truck, you reached around and removed Dean’s gun from its hiding place under the coat.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

He took it from you and held it with great care. You could tell from his expression that he remembered it, which probably meant he remembered more, if not everything else about his life. Ellen’s words from before echoed in your ears,  _plenty of time for that later…_

“Stay here, okay?” he said, checking the clip and turning off the safety. “Jo will stay with you, right?” his gaze asked her not to challenge his request.

“Yeah, whatever,” she huffed and turned back towards the house.

“Keep the engine running. This won’t take long,” he said and kissed your forehead before joining Sam, Ellen, and the others to check out the house.

Once they were inside, you could feel Jo’s eyes on you. You tried to act like it didn’t bother you, but you were one more dirty look away from being unable to hold your tongue.

“So, you and Dean… that’s a thing?”

You shrugged. “We’re close.”

“I could tell. But Dean’s a sweet guy. He likes to take care of the people he cares about.”

“I know. Even when he didn’t know who he was, all he wanted to do was help me.”

“Exactly,” she said with a raise of her brow. “Guess what I’m sayin’ is, don’t take too much of his affection for anything but, you know, him wantin’ to help. This whole life is new to you, so you don’t know the rules.”

“The rules?”

“Mhm. Hunters… they don’t get to have a life you know. Husbands, wives, moms, dads, kids… they always get broken up cause one of them dies ugly. It happened to Sam and Dean, happened to me. Hell, to every hunter I’ve ever known. They all got a sad story that kicked off the life for them. We don’t fall in love or settle down. We deal in whiskey and one-night stands. So, if you’re thinkin’ Dean is gonna be anything more than that for you, you got another thing comin’.”

“I don’t expect anything from Dean,” you bit back, eliciting a raise of one thin brow from Jo.

“If you say so,” she mumbled. “Guys like him, they don’t even know what the apple pie life is all about. Girl like you,” she paused giving you a once over, “you wouldn’t know how to handle a guy like him.”

“For the record, you don’t know anything about what Dean and I have, don’t have, or have been through. Don’t assume to know anything about me Jo, ‘cause I guarantee, you’d be wrong. I don’t need to have grown up a hunter to understand what loss feels like, or pain, or pain because of loss. You think you have the market cornered? Or is this just your way to try and scare me away from pursuing Dean when this is all over?”

Jo scoffed. “Please, if you really want the headache, you can have him. He already tried his luck with me and failed.”

“Then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

“Excuse me?” she challenged, just as the back door opened, Todd and Bruce exiting and letting the door go to sharply bang against the frame.

She rolled back on her heel and turned back towards the house again. The back door flew open again and Ellen came out with Sam and Dean, who were carrying out one of the other hunters who’d been lost. Your gut lurched at the sight of them carrying their friend, now covered with a sheet and being gently laying him in the back of Ellen’s truck.

“Place is cleared out,” Todd said, “We’re gonna roll out if Y'all are good.”

“We are, thanks, boys. We’ll get him home and have a proper pyre built for a hunter’s funeral.” Ellen nodded towards the body in the bed of the truck. “I’ll give ya a call when we do.”

Once the goodbyes were said, they hopped in their truck and headed out. Suddenly feeling awkward, you walked around to the cab of your truck, climbed in and watched as Sam and Dean chatted with Jo and Ellen. You tried not to let what Jo said permeate too deeply into your mind, at least not until you could have a moment alone with Dean. Everything had gone down so quickly, you barely had a moment to appreciate in the fact that he was alive and well. But her words echoed nonetheless, and they were starting to create a cavern of doubt.

You watched through the now dirty windshield as Dean hugged both Jo and Ellen as they climbed into their truck and drove off down the long driveway. The brothers paused to talk for a moment and ended the quick conversation with a hug. When they both approached the truck, Sam came around to the driver’s side and motioned for you to roll down your window.

“Why don’t you let me drive back. You drove all the way here, and its been a long night,” he popped the door open, “slide over.”

You did so without any hesitation, glad to have someone else do the driving. Dean climbed into the passenger side, closing the door behind him. “Ready to roll?” he asked looking between you and Sam.

Sam nodded and took off, not too far behind Ellen and Jo. Dean put his arm around your shoulder and drew you into him. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and exhaustion was setting in. Despite the million thoughts racing through your head, you closed your eyes and buried yourself into Dean’s side. He kept his arm protectively around you for the entire ride back to Harvelle’s Roadhouse.

[Originally posted by beyond-the-nights-world](https://tmblr.co/ZN2TIm2QwqoJN)

 

The funeral happened later that night. Todd and Bruce returned briefly to pay their respects, along with the other half dozen hunters that were at the bar. Once the flames died out, and the business was done, everyone began dispersing in separate directions. Ellen went back to tending bar, Jo and a few others were discussing a possible case, and Sam and Dean were talking near the wreckage of the Impala.

In the time since you got back, you were weighing your next move. You needed to find a moment to talk to Dean and figure out what it was that he wanted from you, and you from him. But with the funeral preparations and the amount of people constantly interrupting, you’d given up and just laid low. The more you watched Dean in his element, the more you convinced yourself of what you had to do.

By the time the sun had set, and the half moon was high in the sky, Dean found you sitting in the bed of your pickup. You were looking up at the stars starting to come out, slowly swinging your feet back and forth.

“Hey stranger,” he smiled, extending his hand out to offer you a beer.

You shook your head in decline and moved over so he could take a seat next to you.

“How’s it feel to be home?” you asked, trying to maintain an even exterior and not let your melancholy show.

“This isn’t exactly home, but it’s nice finding my brother. Ellen and Jo, too.”

“So, did it all come back, or just some of it?”

“Most, I guess,” Dean shrugged, “some things are still sorta blank, but I know who I am. I remember my parents and a lot from my life.”

“Then why don’t you look happy? I thought you’d be glad to have found them.”

He sighed beside you and took your hand. “I am, really. But, I just wasn’t ready to leave what we had yet.” Dean’s voice broke the slightest bit, but you couldn’t look at him, nor could he look at you. “I never really had normal before and staying with you gave me that. I think that’s why I resisted remembering anything.”

“But now that you have, you can’t deny you’re back where you should be.”

His head snapped around, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“I just mean that you’re with your family. This maybe isn’t your home, but you’re back in your life. You gotta admit, it’s much more exciting than stocking shelves at some crappy general store in the middle of nowhere.”

Dean scoffed, “Don’t underestimate the power of normal, sweetheart.”

You hopped off the bed of the truck and tucked your hands into the pockets of his coat that you were still wearing. “I don’t. Trust me. That’s why I’m gonna head home. Get back to some kind of normal.”

“You’re leaving?” Dean was hurt, it read through every feature built into his expression. “Why?”

“You’re where you’re supposed to be. I need to go home and do the same. I am not cut out for this sort of life, and now that you remember, how could you think about coming back with me? What you and your brother do it too important. I know the rules now, I get it.”

“Rules?”

“Yeah… a hunter’s life is about the job. Normal living doesn’t exist.”

Dean shook his head and sighed. “Look, I don’t know what you think you know, but it’s possible—”

“It’s not,” you said, cutting him off abruptly. “It’s not for me. I’m sorry, Dean. I better get going, long drive, and I’m already beat.”

“Y/N, please, just stay here for tonight. Have some real food, get some sleep. I’m not ready for you to go yet.”

“I can’t Dean, I have to go home.”

“And then what, this is over?” he asked desperately, motioning between the two of you. “This is just done?”

“You were only staying with me because you didn’t know where to go. You had just remembered your name, and that there was someone out there named Sam. Well, Sam’s here. This is your—”

“Don’t say it again. This is  _not_  where I belong!” he shouted, quickly regretting it. “I’m sorry, I—I’m just not ready for you to go, that’s all. What we had, before all this shit blew up was pretty damn good, I think. I’m not ready for that to just be done because I remember who I was.”

“It was good. Great, in fact,” you agreed, fighting the urge to touch him, “But I told you, your life would come crashing in, and it did. Nearly killing you. That’s not something I can watch happen on a regular basis. So, better to let it end now before either of us were too invested.”

You felt yourself being cold, and it was the exact opposite of what you truly felt. Letting him go hurt more than many of the hurts that had come before it. This one was deep, but somehow you convinced yourself it was what needed to happen.

Dean sat quietly for a moment. He slid off the bed of the truck and stood close enough for you to smell the liquor on his breath. “I guess I can’t make you stay,” he said softly, “but you gotta know that I stayed because its where I wanted to be. On that couch, watching that crazy lady with the lights, feet up on the coffee table with my girl at my side.”

The heat of tears burned beneath your lids, and you didn’t think you’d be able to hold them off much longer. If you stood there and continued to listen to him talk, you’d never be able to leave. You shoved your hands deeper into your pockets, forcing them to stay there so you didn’t reach out for him. But it didn’t stop him from reaching for you.

Dean took your shoulders in his hands, looking you square in the eye. “You came all this way because in your gut you felt like something was wrong. Your gut was right. You found my friends and my brother because you knew I needed help. Your plan, the one you knew would work, is what got us out in almost one whole piece. I trust your gut. So, if you tell me that this all meant nothing, and your gut, right here and now is telling you to go. Then, I won’t stop you. But, if any part of you believes what I do and that this isn’t over, please stay. Just tonight.”

You thought about what you wanted, and what you felt needed to be. You wanted to stay; thought you should stay. Everything in him was pleading with you to do so. But the voice that spoke over that, the one that lived in the worst parts of yourself, was the loudest. That voice was urging to you to run far away before you could get hurt or before he could hurt you. It was the voice of fear.

“I wish I could Dean, but I have to go home,” you said flatly and avoiding his gaze.

The corners of his mouth drew down into a disappointed smirk. “Well, uh, alright then.” His hands slipped from your shoulders and back to his sides with a thump. “Thank you, for all you’ve done for me; for saving my life. I won’t forget it. I won’t forget you, ever.”

Time was running out for you to maintain the will to leave. There was so much you wanted to say but somehow held it in. “Take care of yourself, Dean.”

You turned away quickly, the tears wouldn’t wait any longer. Sam was walking towards you from the bar with a smile. It faded quickly when he saw your cheeks wet from the ones that escaped already.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You didn’t look at him or say anything. You just climbed into the truck and turned the ignition. Looking up, you saw Dean standing in your side view mirror. He was angry and sad, all of which showed throughout his body. You hated yourself for leaving, but the fear was settling in over everything the way it always did.

> _Fear. Its what drove most of your life. You grew up in it, lived it every day. It conditioned you to stay quiet, not follow your gut._

You cut the wheel and turned sharply, straight down the dusty drive that took you to the main road. The last bit of sun’s light was gone in the west. The stars and moon giving you a sheer blanket of light in any direction. All the emotion that had built up over the last forty-eight hours came pouring out as you blindly barreled towards the STOP sign.

> _Fear is what made you stay after your mother died. Fear is what made you bring Shane back when you knew he’d be nothing but a bully_.  _Fear is what kept you living in the house where you grew up petrified every day and working at the store when it was the last thing you wanted for your life._

The only time fear wasn’t an issue, was after you met Dean. He made you better. He made you brave. He’s the reason you left home and set out in the unknown. You would have never done that before. You always played things safe, and now your conditioning was pulling you back to that when it was the last thing you needed or wanted.

Your inner voice screamed at you to stop, making you slam on the brakes and put the truck in park. Hanging your head, your body just expelled every last bit of emotion you’d stored up until you felt like there was nothing left. Time wasn’t of importance, but you were there long enough for Dean to walk the length of road. He gave you a minute, but when you didn’t get out of the truck, gently knocked at your window.

When you opened the door to the truck, he stepped aside to give you room, but the moment he saw your face streaked with tears, he didn’t give you a chance to stop him. Dean pulled you into a tight embrace and rested his lips on the top of your hair. When he felt your body stop shaking, he pulled away just enough to really look you in the eyes.

“Gonna stay?”

You nodded softly.

“Good. Hungry?”

You nodded again, this time with a slight chuckle.

“Ellen’s got a feast in there. C’mon. I’ll drive us back.”

[Originally posted by canonspngifs](https://tmblr.co/Z9gthm2DYFEL1)

 

_**SIX MONTHS LATER…** _

“No, I didn’t get it yet, Ellen. I’ll call Sam though, he was supposed to bring it back with him… I—I don’t know…. He’s due in tonight I think…”

Ellen chatted on and didn’t let you answer before asking another round of questions. You were trying to balance restocking behind the counter, as well as hold the phone between your ear and shoulder. When blessedly, the little bell rung over the door, giving you an out to end the call.

“Ok El, look, gotta go, Todd just came in. I’ll text you when I hear from Sam.”

Quickly ending the call, Todd greeted you with a grin and came over to the counter. “Hey, girlie. You got the goods?” he gave you a cheeky wink, eliciting a dramatic eye roll from you.

“They’re round back. Why do you have to make it weird?” you asked playfully disgusted, going back your business behind the counter putting away the new shipment of herbs.

“’Cause, he’s just that kinda guy,” Dean said, coming out of the warehouse with an armload of boxes. He placed them down at Todd’s feet and extended a hand in greeting. “Aren’t ya Todd?”

“We’re all known for somethin’,” he said and winked again before picking up what Dean left on the floor. “Thanks for these. Our friends in the north appreciate your efforts.”

“Well, there’s about five dozen of each in there. The rock salt rounds are on the bottom. The others are mixed in the top boxes. Either way, just let me know what you need more of and when.”

Todd nodded in thanks and tipped a wave to you before heading out. Dean got the door for him and as you watched Todd leave, you felt yourself smile. Dean caught a glimpse of your wistful expression and walked around the counter to where you were.

He grabbed your hips from behind and pulled you back into him. “Where’d your mind go?” he asked, his breath warm and inviting on your ear. If you didn’t know he had to leave to meet up with Sam, it would have been enough for you to lock the door and pull him back into the warehouse for a quickie.

“Just thinkin’ bout how much I love all this,” you replied, motioning to the store in front of you, then reaching around and grabbing his ass with a squeeze. “And this. Feels crazy that this is life now.”

As you looked out around the store, you realized how much things really had changed. Sure there were still all the usual items the regular customers purchased. But now that included hunters, too. Stocking the shelves with anything that they could use that wouldn’t bring too much suspicion, and all the things that would be weird to have on the shelves, were available in the back. Salt rounds, special herbs, silver, dead man’s blood… whatever you needed to kill something ugly, could be found or located through your new business.

“Deciding to take on a hunter’s life isn’t easy,” he said, resting his chin on your shoulder, “but what you’ve made here, is a damn good way to live it.”

“What  _WE_  made here. I couldn’t have done it without you and Sam.”

From behind you, the secondary phone line started ringing.

“Is that the bat phone?” Dean asked moving you aside to check. “You get that, I gotta run. Sam should be about an hour out. I’ll be home soon,” Dean said, turning you to face him so he could kiss you. The phone rang again, and he pulled back. “Better answer that, or the people of Gotham are gonna be cranky.”

You hit him playfully in the chest. “Be careful. I love you, jackass.”

“I love you, too. Won’t be late!” he said and gave you a playful smack on the ass just as you picked up the receiver.

Clearing your throat, you answered, “ _Stranger Things_ , whatcha need?”

[Originally posted by frozen-delight](https://tmblr.co/ZSx6ko2AbDPcK)

Dean paused for a moment before heading through the back door and out to the parking lot. He watched her on the phone behind the counter taking an order and smiled to himself. She was happy, in her element and yet still finding her place in this new life. Somehow, they’d made it work, finding a balance of normal, and not so normal. Even when the scales were tipped on one direction over the other, Dean was happy. Because after a hunt with his brother, or at the end of the day working in the store, he could come home relax on the couch with Netflix and his best girl by his side. For the first time in his life, he felt a normalcy and completion he didn’t think could exist. But it did. Here. With her.

 

* * *

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**_This is the last part of The Stranger. Once you read, if you feel like you want more from this particular world, I have ideas, and I’d love to continue it. But I’d love to do so as a requested series - one written with prompts or requests by you! If that’s something you’re up for, finish this part and feel free to[send me an ask](https://coffee-obsessed-writer.tumblr.com/ask)!_**  


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